1920151813, Codename: Storm
by Digital Tempest
Summary: AU. Apathy. Betrayal. Destruction. Revenge is an act of passion, vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged. Crimes are avenged. New truths come to light. Old hurts are mended. And just who's deceiving who? OroroxLogan, others
1. Chapter One

**Title:** 1920151813, Codename: Storm  
**Author:** Tempest  
**Summary:** Apathy. Betrayal. Destruction. Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged. New truths come to light. Old hurts are mended. And just who's deceiving who?  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters recognizable from _X-Men_ or any of its affiliated comics, movies, etc, and I guess that should go without saying that I don't own the comics, movies, so forth and so on either. Stan Lee, Marvel, et al, own everything. I make no money off these works; I do this simply as a means of entertainment. No copyright infringement intended.  
**Dedication:** To my love, William, who says I can't write if the music ain't loud. To Steph, who helped me so much along the way with this story. To my girls—Sparkle, Delia, Mon-luv, and Feli—for being fangirls. To my boys—S.McNasty, Daniel, and RafikitikiGod—for giving me another perspective. Love ya!

———

_Pretty poison is her cry  
Belladonna watch you die_  
**_Belladonna_**, Karen Moline

———

**_Chapter One  
"She's a killer, she's a thriller…"_**

During the day, she was a personal assistant at Shaw Enterprises, a glorified secretary being paid too much money for the little work she did. She made Mr. Shaw's coffee, transcribed Mr. Shaw's notes, filed Mr. Shaw's documents, and answered Mr. Shaw's phones. She took long breaks and left early, even when he asked her to say late. He did not, however, pay her quite enough to be glared at by Emma Frost whenever they were in the same room.

She couldn't say she hated her job, but she couldn't say she loved it either. It gave her something to do during the daylight hours, no matter how mundane it was. She got away with a lot, but then again, that wasn't what really mattered. Right now, she was taking one of those long breaks because she deserved it.

She ordered a Caffé Verona. She wasn't much of a coffee fan. She had always thought of exotic coffee blends and restaurants that catered to coffee as haughty, but she did take a decadent pleasure in certain blends. She paid for her coffee and sat alone in a secluded corner of the café, hoping for a little privacy to enjoy her break.

Sometimes, she did some thinking about her life in general. She was in the stage where she realized that this wasn't what she wanted to do with the rest of her life, but she was still weighing her options. She felt it would be time to move on soon. What would she do with herself, then? She could retire. She laughed to herself. She was too young to retire.

A change of profession was in order. She was tired of seeing all the things she did. No matter how much she tried not to see it, it was starting to take its toll on her. There were a lot of other things she wanted to do with her life. She finished her coffee and walked around, browsing the shops until she felt ready to work.

She went back to the office, only to have Sebastian to buzz her the minute she returned. She transcribed a memo to the employees about a company merger while Emma bored a psychic hole through her head… or attempted to, at least. She thought Emma entertained the idea that she wanted to sleep with Sebastian.

Hardly. Ororo was half his age, easy. She almost snorted at the absurdity of the situation. What could she do with Sebastian, besides give him a heart attack? She didn't want his money, and she sure as hell didn't want him in her bed. She didn't betray any emotion, but silently, she wished she could just slap Emma one good time and hope it knocked some sense in her not-so-natural-blonde head.

After she finished transcribing the memo, she stood to leave. "Ororo," Sebastian said to her. She paused, not turning to look at him, only tilting her head slightly in his direction. "Please inform Mr. Luciano that his services are no longer needed. Tonight, the Blue room at The _Kurogaisha_ at ten o'clock. Send him my regards."

She stiffened when she heard "the Blue room," but dismissed her trepidation quickly. A job was a job, after all. "Yes, Mr. Shaw," she said, walking through the double doors of his office. Well, there went her relaxing night straight out the window.

———

The _Kurogaisha_ was an underground club founded and funded by the Hellfire Club, Sebastian Shaw presiding. Their motto, "Pleasure comes at a price." Those who were rich enough could taste the sins of The _Kurogaisha_. Those who weren't could only imagine what the club had to offer. Slave trades, sadism and masochism, prostitution, drugs, blood sport arenas, they could all be found under one roof.

And that was only a taste of what the club had to offer.

They kept all that tastefully hidden during the day when the place acted as an silent auction house. Rare artifacts from around the world were auctioned off to the rich who didn't exhibit a darker side. Sometimes, though, she would see the faces of the people she encountered at night all cleaned up and bidding on an authentic portrait of Henry VIII.

The day crowd, aside from those who enjoyed everything the _Kurogaisha_ had to offer, were not aware the Hellfire Club owned the place. They were only told that private investors funded the club. The night crowd had to follow explicit rules regarding the club. The first of which being, "You got to pay to play." Nothing came without a price there.

The _Kurogaisha_ was divided into different rooms, catering to different "pleasures." Each room was referred to by a color. The only room not named after a color was the Arena. The Arena, though not named after a color, was stained red with the blood of fighters. Two went in; one came out. Those were the rules of the Arena.

The White room catered to the refined who liked to believe that what they were doing wasn't so bad. The setting was lush, laid-back, seeming more like a social club than a form of a deviance. Businessmen and women flocked to the white room to enjoy their Perrier Jouët. Laughter always tinkled in the atmosphere twisting around the strands of soft, orchestra music. It was rich hypocrisy in action.

The Green Room was a room for the sensualists. It was all about pampering their clientele, indulging their senses. It was calm, peaceful with a forest motif that actually changed with the season. The clients could play Adam and Eve all they wanted there. She wouldn't say that was the only thing that went on there.

The Red room was raucous, lewd, licentious. Dirty, pretty things danced on the stages of the red room, hips grinding, sweat dripping in all the right places. It was a puffed up strip-club and a little more. There was always a live band screaming away on one of the stages while women and men alike undulated, their bodies swelling and surging with the music, promising all kinds of things as long as they have money.

The Black room was just that—black, not only in color but in essence, as well. Only dim lights lit the platforms where the "slaves" were exhibited. The clientele dressed in black robes with hoods pulled low over their faces, more fitting for some kind of sacrificial ceremony. But wasn't there indeed a sacrifice taking place, the sacrifice of innocence? Tonight, they were auctioning off children between the ages of eleven and thirteen. Tomorrow, it would be mutant teenagers.

And the Blue room, well, it was a world all its own.

She pushed through a set black doors leading to the Blue room at 9:45. The only thing blue about the room was the dim, nearly dark, lighting. Everything else was done in dramatic blacks and metal-hued. She pressed her hand against the dark walls, feeling the pulse of the music from the dance floor, as she walked down the corridor.

A small, Asian woman in black, leather shorts and a matching tie-up halter walked past her. She held a leash in her hand, leading along a man dressed only in leather pants. He crawled on all fours like an animal, keeping his eyes to the ground, as the woman tugged on his collar. Ororo averted her eyes from the man when she realized she recognized him to be an important political figure.

It was best just to forget what you saw in that place, or pretend you didn't see it at all. Trouble came when you didn't keep your mouth shut in a place like that.

Without thinking, she rubbed her hand along her thigh, feeling for the small Llama .45 Minimax that rested in a sleek, black holster, which clung tightly to her upper thigh. It was barely concealed under the hem of the dress she wore. She had been fascinated by the gun when Tom first showed it to her. It was chrome with a satin finish complete with a skeleton grip.

It felt so natural in her hand, and she could barely take her eyes off the gleaming, chrome barrel when he first produced it. "I don't need this," she'd told him while eying the gun.

"Just in case, a woman can never have enough protection these days." Tom had said with a slight chuckle.

Tom Corsi was an ex-cop who turned in his badge when he realized that the law didn't matter if you could pay your way out of punishment. He'd been a good cop who really wanted to do something about all the crime in the city, but he pissed off the wrong people and spent his time giving out parking tickets rather than chasing the bad guys. He became a munitions dealer and made better money doing it.

She slowed her pace when she came to the looking cases near the end of the corridor. There was always someone on display. She swallowed hard in sickened fascination, as she watched a masked man in one of the cases. A woman was tied down to a metal table, blindfolded and naked. She moaned and writhed as the man stitched live butterflies onto her bare skin. The butterfly girl, there was a new one every week.

She knew the man who did the stitching. She asked him why these women allowed him to do that to them. He explained that it was the euphoria of knowing she could beg for mercy all she wanted even though she knew she wouldn't get it. And once it was all over, she felt as beautiful and free as the butterflies adorning her body. Uh-huh,_ right_.

He asked her if she'd like to be the next butterfly girl. It would be liberating. _Bullshit._ She told him she wanted to be the butterfly girl about as much as he probably wanted his genitals bitten off by a Rottweiler. He told her if she ever reconsidered, she'd know where to find him. Not in this lifetime or the next one either.

Ororo shuddered and ripped her eyes away from the scene. These things were like car wrecks. Horrible to witness, but you couldn't help looking at it. She walked on, quickly. The sooner she found Stephán Luciano, the sooner she could get the hell out of there. She pushed further down the corridor, stepping into the club itself.

She stood on a balcony high above the dancing bodies. Pissed off music blared all around her. "_Party in the morgue…_" she heard a synthetic voice screaming around her. She couldn't hear much of anything else around the angry bass and unreal beats. Bodies packed together, grinding against one another, moving like one black-clad mass. She guessed she was the only who'd thought to wear red.

She shrugged and made her way down the stairs. Instead of enjoying the calm, snobbish atmosphere of one of the other areas of The _Kurogaisha_, Luciano had chosen one of the most depraved. She'd seen him in other areas of The _Kurogaisha_ before and wondered why chose this one as a rendezvous point. Maybe, his curiosity had gotten the better of him. It was his money, though. Who was she to care about how he spent it?

She sidestepped a rather large man carrying a woman up the stairs. At first, the woman stared up at him wide-eyed, as if she were in a trance. Then, she started screaming like a madwoman, beating his chest, biting, scratching. He lost his grip on her, and she fell to the ground. He jerked her up by her hair, pulling her along, while her limbs thrashed every which way.

Another lesson she'd learn: If they were kicking and screaming, that probably meant they liked it.

A quick scan of the crowd didn't produce Luciano's face, but then again, there were so many people there that she would need to get closer to the crowd. She continued down the stairs and made her way to the bar. Shinobi was standing at the bar drinking something that glowed bright green. "Shinobi-_sama_," she said his way in greeting, nodding her head at him.

"Haniyasu-_hime_," he said mockingly, nodding back at her. She knew he was ridiculing her, and she curled her lip at him in loathing. Pet names, a long-standing tradition with them from the days when he'd taught her Japanese and she'd actually thought he was "charming."

"Don't call me that," she said disdainfully.

"Thought this wasn't your scene," he said, ignoring her.

"It's not. I'm working," she said. Shinobi nodded at her and ordered another one of those glowing drinks. She almost asked him what it was, but she decided against it. If she asked, she'd want to try it, and it would be just her luck that it was something hard that would knock her on her ass. Whatever it was, it probably wasn't legal, anyway. Funny she worried about legalities. She ordered a Midori Sour and sipped it.

She turned her attention back to the room as the paroxysmal beats of the music gradually dawdled and faded into a slow accompanied by a steady thump that set the harmonious pace. "_Party in the morgue…_" she could hear the words fading into the music. Her eyes examined the crowded room searching for her target. He was still nowhere to be found.

Someone grabbed her shoulder and turned her around, forcefully. He wore a long, leather Matrix-style coat with a blood red cross emblazoned on the middle of it. She was tall, but he was taller. She had to look up at him to see his dark eyes. "We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way," he growled at her.

Ororo cocked her eyebrow at him. She wondered where he'd gotten the idea she was even into any of that rough bondage shit. He was supposed to take that to the back, not in the dance area. "I always liked doing things the hard way," she said to him.

She jerked away from him, wrapping her hands around the back of his neck. She brought her knee up into his groin, then jerked his head down and brought her knee up into his nose. She let go of him, grabbing one of his bulky arms and twisting it roughly until she was behind him forcing him to the ground.

"Touch me again and I will kill you," she hissed into his ear, pushing him away from her. He scrambled away from her, and she turned back to the bar. Maybe she should've worn black. Goddess, she hated this place.

"He was just being friendly," Shinobi said beside her. "It's not nice to be mean to the natives."

"Well, you go home in the back with him and let him spank you, then." Ororo shot at him. She downed the last of her Midori. She turned back toward the crowd, leaning against the bar.

She scanned the crowd, again, looking for Luciano. He had to be there somewhere. He was supposed to be there, anyway. She hated to think that she was going to have to go deeper into the club. What just happened with the man was the tip of the iceberg. The real action went on in the back rooms. Seeing a woman get butterflies stitched onto her skin was pretty tame when she thought about what went on in the back rooms.

She would hate to bust into one of the rooms to find him getting the flesh peeled off his back or something equally as revolting. No, she would wait until she saw him in proximity. When the song ended, the crowd thinned a little. People made their way to one of the various bars. Ororo found herself surrounded by sweaty, leather-clad bodies. She pushed away from the bar, trying not to make too much skin-to-skin contact.

Luciano entered the club, surrounded by his entourage, wearing an expensively tailored suit that accentuated his physical attributes. He wore little jewelry. A small gold chain with a crucifix and a gold ring with his insignia was the most she had ever seen him wear. Sometimes, he would sport a pair of sunglasses in his spiky, black hair.

Sly, seductive dark eyes peered from beneath impossibly long lashes. A half-cocked smile always played on his lips that had the perfect cupid's bow going for it. She always thought that was kind of feminine on men, but it worked well for him. She didn't care how good-looking he was. She hated tardiness, especially when it was on her time.

Despite Luciano's youth, he was known as a prolific businessman who could be ruthless to the core when he had to be. He was running his father's company better than his father had, and everybody knew it. His business ethics were sometimes described as lacking, though. He had nice things, a nice home and plenty of money to throw around when he wanted to, all courtesy of his business sense, though. So, she was sure he didn't give a damn about "business ethics."

He didn't steal from the poor and give to the rich, and he didn't steal from the rich and give to the poor. He stole from the rich and gave to himself. He wasn't Robin Hood, but he was the closet damn thing to him. He had the attitude that many rich, arrogant heirs in his position had. He thought because he had money he was untouchable, thought he could break the rules and get away with it. It was partially true.

However, he'd gone and made Sebastian Shaw mad. When Sebastian was cross, people had to pay. She didn't know what he'd done. She knew it had something to do with acquisitions meeting. She hadn't been present at the time of the meeting. It didn't take much to get on Sebastian's bad side when it came to business.

She watched him walk past her, occupying the largest booth in the corner of the room, ordering the most expensive champagne. Women—and a few brave men—flocked to his table like drones, trying to amuse the man. Ororo knew that by habit he invited many women to join him, but habitually only took one or two home. The scorned few could be found sniffing after his associates like a pack of hungry wolves, licking their wounds of rejection.

Her eyes locked stubbornly on her target who was wasted no time fondling some red-haired vixen. Ororo took two deep breaths and sauntered toward his table. She walked with calculated steps, adding a little sway to her hips. She felt various hands touch her body as she made her way to him. She would have felt violated if she hadn't been so determined in her task.

He looked up when she was a few feet away from his table. She felt a slow, seductive smile cover her face as a teasing hand rested on her hip. She let her eyes take in a slow appraisal of the man. She raised a challenging eyebrow at him as if to say him, "Your move." He returned the favor, letting his gaze rest on her legs for a moment.

She felt the muscles in her thighs tense in response. _The goddamn gun_. She didn't stop at the table. Instead, she walked to the restroom and took the gun and holster off, hiding it in one of the stalls. Nobody would be stupid enough to walk out with it. She hoped. She could get it tomorrow... or later, if she had the time.

Luciano's attention was focused again on the red head from earlier. The woman was almost in his lap, and she was stroking the side of his face licentiously. The woman whispered something in his ear, and he laughed, showing off his delectable dimples. The woman's breasts were nearly falling out of her shirt as she fawned all over him, and of course, he was enjoying every minute.

She walked toward his table again, stopping in front of him. He looked up from the woman. "Mr. Luciano, I believe we have business," she said to him, bluntly.

"Please, just call me Stephán. Mr. Luciano is my father." His mouth curled into a flirtatious grin. _Cute_, she thought to herself. "And you would be Ms. Munroe?"

"Please, since we're dropping the formalities, call me Ororo." She stuck out a hand, expecting a handshake, but he pulled her around the table to his other side, and she heard the red-head make a sound of protest.

"We need more beautiful women at this table," he said. So, she was going to have to play this game a little longer than she anticipated. She feigned interest in him, as he talked about himself. He would touch her delicately while they talked. Sometime, he would touch a strand of her hair or let his fingers run lightly along her thigh. She thought he might be the touchy, feely type. She was glad she ditched the gun in the bathroom.

Finally, she lured him out of The _Kurogaisha_, back to her limo under the pretense that they needed to go to Shaw Enterprises to sign the papers he needed. "Can't business wait?" he asked once they were inside, eyeing her.

"You know how much Mr. Shaw hates waiting," she said with a tsk.

He laughed derisively and said something mildly amusing in regards to Sebastian's impatience, and she laughed, the top of her dress shifting strategically, allowing him to catch an appetizing curve of her breast. He tried to move closer to her, but she placed one stiletto-ed foot in his chest pushing him back against the seat of the limo. He looked up her the length of her leg hungrily, removing the heel from foot, kissing the top of her foot, gingerly.

She proffered him her other leg, and he slipped her other heel from her foot, as if it were a glass slipper. She moved across the limo, straddling his hips. Her dress rode up her thighs, and his hands disappeared beneath the soft material, clasping her legs firmly. "How about a kiss?" she asked him, smiling darkly, lowering her lips to his.

———

Ororo unlocked the door to her apartment, immediately letting her hair down. She loved the relaxing atmosphere or her apartment. She'd decorated it herself, using earth tones and tribal themes. It was nice to come home to after a long day, such as now. She couldn't wait to get in the tub and wash away the grimy feel of the Blue room.

She walked into her bedroom and threw the gun on her bed. She'd gone back and got it after she did the job. It hadn't been messy, and she had the time. She hadn't even fired it—a pity. She never knew exactly how she was going to assassinate someone until she was face to face with him or her. It was part of the thrill. She was always prepared, though.

She pushed the play button on her answering machine, shedding articles of clothing, as she walked around her apartment. She walked to her bathroom, lighting the candles that surrounded her tub, as she half-listened to her messages. She ran her fingers over the smooth porcelain of the tub before turning on the water and filling the tub.

She loved the antique, claw-footed tub. She found it at someone's yard sale for next to nothing. She restored it herself, polishing the porcelain until it shone, replacing the rusted fixtures with fancy golden ones. The tub was monstrous, large enough for two people to fit in comfortably, but she mostly used it alone.

She walked into her living room, nude, and turned on her sound system, and Mozart flowed through the apartment. She hummed to herself as she walked to her kitchen, grabbing a bottle of her favorite wine and a glass. Jean's voice filled her apartment, and Ororo paused in front of the answering machine, mouthing Jean's words. She knew all of Jean's messages by heart.

"God! All I ever get is your answering machine, Ororo. Are you ever at home, anymore? We haven't seen you in forever, Ororo. When are you coming home?" Jean asked, her voice rising just a bit. _Home._ Ororo snorted to herself. The mansion hadn't been home to her in quite some time.

"But nowhere is home," Ororo said in response to Jean's question.

She walked back to the bathroom, placing her glass and the bottle of wine on the stand by the tub. She lowered herself smoothly into the tub, the water barely rippled. She sighed and poured herself a glass of the blush wine, leaning her head back against the tub. The bubbles in her bath tickled her skin, and she smiled slightly. It was simple pleasures like these she enjoyed the most.

The phone rang, and she turned her head to look at it. She didn't really want to answer it, but it could've been Sebastian wanting to know Mr. Luciano's status. She could've just ignored it with the excuse that she turned the ringer off, but she knew she wouldn't. She reached for the phone she kept on the stand, putting it to her ear.

"Hello?" she breathed into the phone.

"Miss me?" the deep voice on the other end said.

She felt the first tingling of want in her stomach. She flexed her toes in the water as she placed her glass on the stand, but she couldn't resist just a little roll of her eyes at Victor's greeting. "Yes, I'm fine, Victor. Thanks for asking. How are you?" she said with a throaty, sexy chuckle.

Victor Creed was a fellow co-worker. He didn't work at Shaw Enterprises. He wasn't cut out for that kind of work, but he did do Sebastian's dirty work better than anyone else she knew. Considering the memo she'd sent out earlier, she would say that Victor had been very successful in persuading RJK Enterprises they _did_ want the merger.

She wouldn't say she was emotionally attached to any man, hadn't been for a long time. Victor was the closest it got, and she definitely wasn't attached to him. She loved someone once, foolishly. Even when the relationship hit a rough patch, she loved him. Their relationship suffered because of the secrets he kept from her, and she paid dearly for his deception, losing everything she considered truly important in her life.

That was a long time ago, though, but revenge still weighed heavy on her mind.

"I had a job tonight, a Stephán Luciano," she continued, waiting for what she knew would come next.

"Did ya fuck him?" Victor asked.

"Yes," she lied, closing her eyes. She never slept with any of her targets. She may tease them, but she never let it go any further than that. This was another part of the thrill, though, telling Victor that she'd slept with her hits when she didn't. Victor knew that, but it was just a wicked game they played with one another.

"You lie."

"How can you be so sure?" she asked coyly. She ran her free hand through her damp hair. "You're at home. I'm here. For all you know, I could have fucked him right here."

"Only one way to find out."

"What if I won't let you in?"

"I'll get in," he said, confidently. She had no doubt that he would, even if he had to tear the door down. Though, she hoped he wouldn't. "An' when I do, I'll show you that your body belongs to me."

"Is that all you think about?" she asked, trying to sound exasperated.

"Yeah, and it's all you think about, too." And with that he hung up. She turned off the phone and returned it to the stand, shaking her head to herself. She soaped her body, slowly. Sex with Victor was never about emotions. There were no fireworks exploding, or tears of loving joy, or anything sugary-sweet like that. It was purely an animalistic act—dirty, rough, and satisfying. She didn't believe he had a tender bone in his body.

She could imagine his big body pressing into hers, one of his large hands wrapped around her wrists holding them high above her head, the taste of his salty skin against her taste buds, the way he made her feel completely helpless as his fingers dug into her skin. She could see his hand pressed tight against her stomach, while the other gripped her shoulder, on her knees, him pulling her into him—fierce in his ardor, while she trembled in her ecstasy.

She could feel his mouth on her skin, paining and pleasuring, while he thrust and thrust and… Warmth nestled in her stomach, her eyes nearly crossing at just the thought, and she felt any resolve she had left going down the drain. Sometimes, she thought she might like something more besides good sex, not with Victor, though. He just wasn't relationship material.

She'd met some good guys, but they never did anything for her. They were so uninspired, unable to move her the way she needed to be moved. Maybe, she'd been around rough men so long that she could no longer appreciate the good guys. She sat straight up in the tub when the phone rang again. She picked it up lazily.

"Ororo, is that you?"

Ororo smiled. "No, I'm her evil twin, 'Ro."

"Well, you'll do, too." Jean paused and sighed dramatically into the phone. _Wait for it_, Ororo said to herself, tapping her foot against the tub. "Where in the _hell_ have you been?"

"Work keeps me busy." Ororo said, feeling a small twinge of guilt. That wasn't exactly a lie, though. Work did keep her busy. Jean just thought she worked as a secretary for some company.

"I have been worried sick. Why haven't you called me?" Jean asked.

"I've been working late a lot lately." Another twinge of guilt. That wasn't a lie, either. She had been working a lot lately, but she could have called Jean. She knew how Jean liked to worry.

"No excuse not to call your best friend to let her know you're not dead." Jean said, as Ororo drained the tub of the cooling water and refilled it.

"I'm _not_ dead."

"How considerate of you for the update, considering." Jean said dryly. "How about lunch tomorrow? It's been a while since we spent any time together."

Ororo had her work, and Jean had her missions. Sometimes, they didn't see each other for months at a time. It would be nice to spend some time with Jean. "Sure, I usually lunch at around noon, and when I lunch, I lunch. So don't come expecting a thirty minute pig-out, a quick hug, and a goodbye. I shop, I ramble, I eat, and then, I consider going back to work."

Jean laughed. "Your boss has to hate you."

"Probably, but I believe he hates everyone, anyway." Ororo said, only half-joking. The hairs on her neck stood on edge, the familiar feeling of being watched. She turned her head toward the door, slowly. She chewed on the inside of her lip, trying to hide a smile when she saw Victor. He'd pick the lock, effortlessly. She hadn't expected anything less. What she was more concerned about was how he'd gotten past the doorman.

He walked toward her, purposely. She was aware that Jean was still talking, but she didn't hear anything he was saying. She only watched as Victor stooped beside the tub, his hand dipping below the water. Sharp fingernails grazed across the inside of her thigh, the water stinging the shallow scrapes. His fingers followed the same path again, soothing, inching just a bit closer to ground zero.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Jean," she said in a quiet voice. "There is someone here."

"Wait! Where are we meeting?"

"I don't care." Ororo said, absently.

"Come by the mansion. We'll lunch here."

The mansion. Great, good, that was fine with her. "Yeah, okay. I have to go," she wondered if it was possible to send Jean telepathic messages from this distance because Jean was not getting the point. She quickly said her goodbyes and hung up the phone.

"Who was that?" he asked.

She sank a little lower in the tub, pushing against his hand. "My other man," she said before sinking lower in the water until nothing but her eyes peered at him over the water. She saw the disbelief in his eyes, and she smiled wickedly.

"Cock tease."

———

**Author's Notes:** We're getting to the RoLo. No worries. This has been in the works for quite some time, and I decided now was a good time to really concentrate on it. This is a mixture of different X-verses, as well as my own creation, but I got most of the Ororo's sass from Ultimate. This follows no continuity whatsoever, and I've written a more cynical, hardened Storm. And yes, there will be a reason for that.

Although everyone has their powers here, I still consider this very much AU because I have melded and meshed until I was satisfied. If you've read my story Red & Violet on ffnet, you already know who Haniyasu is, but if not, I've explained everything further down. Special thanks to Spike this chapter for his question and answer session with me about bondage, even though I didn't use half of what he told me.

The Blue room and the butterfly girl was inspired by a short story I read. I forgot what it's called, but the story stayed imprinted in my mind because of how chilling it was.

"Party in the Morgue" is a song by Thee Undatakerz from the _Blade: Trinity_ OST.

Chapter title comes from the Rob Zombie song "Spookshow Baby."

_Kurogaisha_ translates to "Black Company" in Japanese.

The suffix "–sama" is used to refer to someone of a higher rank. It can also be used by someone in the case of addressing someone for whom you have great respect or even romantic interest. (Source: animeinfo, because they explain it so much better than me)

Haniyasu-_hime_ is the Japanese goddess of the earth. She ruled the earth with her husband. Together, they punished. They were responsible for the seasons while sustaining life on earth. The suffix "-hime" means princess in Japanese. So, basically, Shinobi was making a none-too-subtle jab at Ororo's weather powers.

The quote on revenge used in my summary is courtesy of Samuel Johnson.

This story was written under the premise that Ororo only lived at the mansion to learn to control her power when she was younger, but left shortly thereafter. I can't tell you why now, as that would spoil the story. So, basically, she doesn't know Logan at this point in my AU. We're getting there. Pinky promise.


	2. Chapter Two

**_Chapter Two  
"She's trouble, in a word, get closer to the fire…"_**

Another day, another mission. It seemed as if Sebastian never run out of people who needed to be taken care of. When you were on top, though, you had to stay there by eliminating those who threatened you. She gathered the files Sebastian had given her two weeks before and stuck them in her briefcase. She'd study them again after she left the mansion.

The assassin business was meticulous, tedious work. Sometimes, it required hours and hours of work. Surveillance alone could take days depending on what Sebastian needed and who the target was. She had to learn a target's routine, sometimes, and find something in the routine that would allow her just the right opportunity to strike.

More than a few times, she had to get close to her targets in a personal aspect. That always took time because not too many people were trusting these days, and she guessed she didn't blame them. Trusting her had gotten more than a few people killed. Sometimes, she hated to think of herself as a killer, stealing the very thing away that most people loved the most—life.

She wasn't always an assassin. She started at Shaw's organization as a thief, and he said she showed the "aptitude" to take it to the next level. So, she was trained to kill people. A veteran assassin, Greg Romberg, had trained her in the "art of assassination." She was still so young then, but her heart was hardened. At least, she believed it to be.

Greg told her that her powers were impressive, but showy, and she couldn't expect that to rely solely on them. She had to learn to be more technical, especially when going in for the close kill, but he did teach her techniques that her powers made easier. She could still remember her first kill, clearly, too clearly. She never kept a count of how many people she'd killed, but she never forgot her first.

Her target's name was Aiden Rivers. There were specific instructions. No powers, close kill, two clean shots—one to the heart, one to the head. Greg called it her final exam.

Earlier that day while Victor helped her with her thigh holster—and letting his fingers linger on her thigh longer than she thought was necessary, Greg had told her the first time was always the hardest; she would get use to it. She might even enjoy it. According to Greg, assassins weren't born; they were made. She thought that might apply to everyone, except Victor. She believed he was born to kill.

Greg had felt it was essential to prep her for what she about to do. She remembered thinking how do you prepare someone to kill? Do you cheer them on? Images of perky, cheerleaders bouncing around screaming, "Be aggressive! Be! Be! Aggressive!" had invaded her thoughts, nearly causing her burst into a fit of laughter. But that was no laughing matter by far.

She recalled Greg's words of wisdom as she had practiced pulling the gun out of the holster. "Make every shot count, don't miss your mark, or so help you God, he's going to kill you if he can." Such comforting words. This was a matter of life and death. Kill or be killed. What a way to spend your twenty-third birthday.

She killed Aiden, but she had freaked out, proving she wasn't as tough as she thought she was. She remembered going back to the man's beach house, located on a secluded stretch of beach. She remembered how he placed his hands on her hips and pulled her toward him aggressively, causing the gun to butt against his thigh.

"What the hell?" he'd said, as he pushed her away from him, looking down at her legs. Without thinking, she had swiftly pulled the gun from her holster, aiming at him. Regret washed over her as his eyes opened wide with shock and betrayal. She steadied her shaking hand, only pausing a moment, despite being told never to pause.

"I'm sorry," she'd whispered, as she fired the first shot. She saw him clutch his chest, and she closed her eyes and continued to fire. She was supposed to shoot him twice, but she didn't even open her eyes until she heard the _click, click_ of the empty magazine.

She had looked at Aiden's body, which lay in a bloody mess on the floor. Revulsion swept over her. She had killed a man—another human being. She dropped the gun and fell to her knees, her empty stomach trying to exile what wasn't there. Tears stung her eyes as she looked at the once proud man, drowning in his own blood.

She had stood up, nearly collapsing to the floor again. She picked up the gun and fled from the room. She ran out the backdoor of the house, toward the inviting waters of the dark beach.

"Storm!" A voice had called behind her, her codename—Storm, but she didn't stop. She tripped over her feet, but quickly stood up and continued her race to the waters. Before she could run out into the unforgiving ocean, she was tackled from behind, her face kissing the moist, soft sand. She sat up, cradling her knees. "The fuck are you doin'?"

"I-I killed him. He… I… blood… everywhere… oh, goddess…" she had moaned, dry heaving again. The tears slipped out of her eyes as images of Aiden's dead, limp body assaulted her mind.

Victor had to carry her back to the car. He and Greg had followed, just in case anything went wrong, but she hadn't known that they would do that at the time. They'd done it that way so she wouldn't feel so secure about being "rescued" if it came to that. Greg said she needed more training, not in execution, but in learning not to connect with the target. Her first shot had been a sure shot, and Greg believed if she hadn't freaked, her second would've been just as sure.

Now, she could do an assignment like that without blinking. She wouldn't say that she didn't still regret her actions, but she learned to harden herself against it. This was the hand life dealt her. She picked up her briefcase. Time for lunch.

———

Jean always told them about Ororo. She always stressed that if she ever got in trouble Ororo was the first person she wanted contacted. Problem was, he didn't know who Ororo was. Jean always spoke about Ororo, as if she'd never left the mansion ten years earlier. He knew the two kept a close relationship, so it was odd that he hadn't met her before now.

He'd once asked Scott about this Ororo. He said he hadn't seen Ororo as frequently as Jean had in the last ten years, not since they were at least twenty, not since… Scott always trailed off at that point, saying that wasn't important. So, to him, Ororo was just a name on Christmas cards, scrawled in neat, fancy handwriting.

He was the one who answered the door when she knocked. She pulled on the bottom of suit jacket, straightening wrinkles only she could see. She glanced at him with a half-smile, and he scratched his chin, waiting for her to say something. "Hello, I'm Jean's friend, Ororo," she said politely. She extended her right hand toward him formally.

"Logan," he said, shaking her hand. Her grip was firm and assured. Confident. She studied him for a moment, and he thought he detected just the slightest hint of heat in her eyes. But when she blinked, her eyes were impassive. He moved and allowed her to enter the foyer. She stooped to pick up a briefcase. Then, she entered the mansion and looked around, taking everything in, her eyes darting to and fro, intently. Confident and perceptive.

She wasn't what he expected, dressed conservatively in her cream, pinstriped business pantsuit. Her white hair was pulled back into a tight bun. Her light perfume wafted on the air between them, but underneath it, he could smell her natural smell, the slow, dizzying aroma of sandalwood. Machine gun blues seemed to bore into his eyes when he looked at her. She didn't break eye contact with him, as so many people did, because they claimed his stare was too intent.

She was tall, and she didn't seem to mind her height as some tall women did. She didn't droop her shoulders, or bend her spine, to make herself appear shorter. She walked with her shoulders back and her head held high, taking each step with sureness, the sway of her hips saying, "Come-hither." Jean had been right, the woman was downright gorgeous, but she didn't seem so much like the wild free spirit that Jean described her as.

That didn't make her any less beautiful, and she definitely appealed to that physical side of him. But there was something about her that sent off warning signs in his head. She greeted those she knew and introduced herself to those she didn't know, walking around the mansion, as if she'd never left. She was courteous with just a hint of coldness, gracious with little emotion.

He watched the way she moved about the mansion. She moved with the stealth of a panther, subtly peeking over her shoulder, changing directions suddenly, doubling already taken paths. She moved like a woman being followed, like a woman on the prowl. He didn't think she was consciously aware of it. It was something that seemed like a force of habit.

How many everyday businesswomen moved like that? He knew a huntress when he saw one. Question was, what was she hunting exactly? While she was talking to the Professor, Logan pulled Jean to the side. Jean held a tray of iced tea. It shook unsteadily, when he grabbed her arm. She blushed a little, looking around—for Scott most likely—before she pulled away from him a little.

He wasn't concerned about Scott at that moment. He was more interested in her friend. "What did you say she did again?" he asked. He'd never known his instincts to lie about someone, and he was getting a vibe from Ororo that bothered him just a little.

"She works at large company as a personal assistant. She calls herself a glorified secretary." Jean said with a slight smile, looking over at Ororo.

Logan turned his eyes to Ororo, as well. She leaned her neck to one side, massaging the side of her neck with lissome fingers, pushing her collar down slightly, in the process. He furrowed his eyebrows, studying the back of her neck. He could see the beginnings of a tattoo. It was the start of a barcode, but before he really get a good look at it, she straightened her neck.

There was something strangely familiar about the tattoo. He could remember seeing one like it before, but not on her. He'd seen it on some punk at Harry's Hideaway that hadn't known how to hold his liquor or his temper. That could just be a coincidence, but he remembered one of the barkeeps, his friend Cormick Grimshaw, making a comment about the man. "The scum. He thinks he can come here and start trouble just 'cause he works for some big shot." Cormick would never tell him who the "big shot" was.

"What company?" he asked.

"You know," Jean said thoughtfully, "I can't seem to recall, or maybe she never said."

Jean shrugged. She didn't seem bothered by the fact that her friend had conveniently forgotten to mention what "large company" she worked for. She walked into the parlor with the tea, and Logan followed. He needed to be around her to confirm his feeling. The Professor excused himself from the room. Jean and Ororo talked around him, as if he weren't in the room at all.

She made light conversation. He listened as she said she couldn't believe how much the mansion had changed, or how much so-and-so has changed, or how many people there were at the mansion now. She said something about missing the mansion, and Logan took his opportunity. "So why did you leave?" he asked interrupting their conversation.

Her composure ruffled for a moment, as she stared him with quirked eyebrows, and Jean's cheeks flamed redder than her hair. Apparently, he touched a raw nerve. "I married the love of my life," she said almost sardonically. Whether her tone was in response to his question or to this "love of her life," he was unsure. She took a sip of her tea, and just like that, she was back to that calm, cool demeanor.

"Perhaps, we should go the garden." Jean said, her cheeks still burning. "We recently remodeled your greenhouse and started using it again. I'm horrible at gardening, but Logan isn't so bad at it."

"That should've been torn down years ago. Why did you keep it around, anyway?" Ororo asked with a faint smile.

"Just in cause you ever decided to come back." Jean said, averting her eyes away from Ororo. That was a none-too-subtle way of saying she wanted her to come back.

Ororo just laughed warmly, and stood from her seat. "I would love to see it. I imagine it's more beautiful now than it ever was," she said. Jean stood, as well, hooking arms with Ororo. Jean shot him a look that warned him not to follow behind Ororo's back. He sat back in his chair, looking at the briefcase she'd left on the coffee table.

———

What had she been thinking when she agreed to come to the mansion for lunch? She hadn't been thinking—not about the mansion or lunch, anyway. She made a promise to Jean, though, and she never backed out of her promises. She was a little nervous about visiting the mansion after so many years. She saw Jean often enough, but they usually met in the city somewhere.

She'd rang the doorbell, sitting her briefcase on the ground, waiting expectantly. This could be a very nice visit, and maybe, she did need to visit more. This had been the only home she'd known for so long. She pulled at the bottom of her suit, driving away the last of her nervous energy, as the door to the mansion opened.

The man who answered the door, who she'd eventually come to know as Logan, was handsome, but not in that clean-shaven, waifish way that was posted all over the billboards and the magazines. He was all thick muscles, brooding good looks, and dark hair like one of those men off the cover of a tawdry romance novel. She had to keep herself from having a few tawdry thoughts about him as she walked into the mansion.

He'd scratched at his dark stubble while waiting for her to speak first. She thought he saw a hint of disappointment in his eyes, and she wondered what outrageous stories Jean had told him about her. She didn't think she wanted to know. He was suspicious of her. He wasn't so obvious about it, but she knew how to pick up the subtle signs. It was the way he watched her, as if he was just waiting for her to make a wrong move.

She didn't blame him, but if he thought she meant to bring trouble to the mansion, he was sadly mistaken. Keeping trouble away from the mansion was one of the reasons she didn't visit. They already had enough of their own problems without the added bonus of hers.

Jean chatted flippantly, leading Ororo to the greenhouse. Ororo detected an underlying note of tension in her voice, though. Jean had never been really good at hiding her emotions, a trait that Ororo had sometimes envied when they were younger. She wouldn't push. Jean would tell her what was on her mind before she left.

The greenhouse was verdant with life. Someone had done a very good job in the greenhouse. She longed to just kick off her shoes, get down on knees, and dig in the dirt. Goddess, how long had it been since she'd actually done that? Too long that was for sure. She had a few potted plants in her apartment that she dedicated her time to, but nothing like this.

"You should take some time off. We could go somewhere together, just the two of us." Jean said. "I need a vacation, and you need one, too, whether you admit or not, Ms. Workaholic."

"A vacation would be nice," Ororo said wistfully. It would be nice to get away for a little while, to do something halfway normal for a little while. She wouldn't have to worry about her next assignment. "The Islands would be nice to visit this time of year. What would Scott think about you running off, though?"

She knew how Scott could be in command mode. She was nowhere near the workaholic that Scott was. He just might forbid Jean to go anywhere because the world might blow up at any given moment, and of course, the X-Men would have to somehow fix that. He was dedicated, tied and true, to the X-Men and their goals. Speaking of Scott, she hadn't seen him when she came into the mansion. Ordinarily, Jean and Scott were always together.

"Scott can sod off." Jean said darkly.

"_Sod off_? You've talked to Betsy recently, haven't you?" Ororo said with a chuckle, trying to lighten Jean's mood, but it didn't do much good. Ororo couldn't help smiling at the thought of Betsy, anyway. Betsy loved her English brew—particularly "Stout"—and her English expletives.

"I'm being serious."

"What's wrong?" Jean and Scott were always that couple that was sickeningly perfect, always had been. They had their arguments like regular couples, but it never took long before they stuck together again as if nothing even happened. They were so damn sweet together. At least, that's what she'd always thought.

"We've been having problems, lately," she said, looking down at her hands. "Supposedly, Logan's… flirting is what's causing the strain between us, but I'm not so sure that's it."

Jean told Ororo that ever since Logan had been at the mansion he'd always flirted with her. She thought it was partially because he liked being the thorn in Scott's side more so than his feelings for her. Ororo had noticed the way that Logan seemed to hover around Jean. She hadn't thought too much of it, though. Men did that at times.

"It seems like all we ever do is fight about Logan, and he knows that I'm not interested in Logan. I've told him that repeatedly." Jean sighed. Scott could be jealous, but he wasn't a raging, jealous boyfriend. He was usually pretty confident in his relationship with Jean.

"If you're relationship could survive Warren, it can survive Logan, too." Ororo said with a note of confidence. She placed her hand over Jean's and squeezed it reassuringly. Warren had pursued Jean relentlessly when they were younger, and it hadn't helped things any that Warren was slightly manipulative. In the end, though, it was Jean and Scott like always.

"I know, but I don't think Scott's being completely honest. Logan hasn't been flirting as much lately. I think Scott's seeing someone else, and these fights about Logan are just a way to wedge us away from one another." Jean said, frowning.

"What do you mean seeing someone else?" Ororo asked. She might've laughed if Jean hadn't looked so serious. She didn't think that Scott had what it took to be a cheater. He was just too dedicated. "You think he's cheating on you. Come on. This is reliable, serious Scott we're talking about here."

"But Ororo, I saw it!" Jean said, burying her face in her hands. "I didn't actually see them together, him and the blonde, but I saw… in his mind… I didn't mean to…" Jean trailed off.

Ororo was quiet for a moment. Scott cheating on Jean just didn't seem right. "Couldn't it have just been a fantasy?" Ororo asked. She just couldn't see it. Scott? Cheating? No way. If Scott was cheating, the world should go spinning off its axis at any moment.

"It could have been." Jean said, but she didn't sound convinced that it was. "But there was just something too real for it to be just a fantasy."

"Have you talked to him about this?" Ororo asked. She was trying to remain neutral on the situation since she'd only heard Jean's side of things. There had to be an explanation for all of this.

"I can't do that, Ororo. Then, he'll accuse me of snooping inside his head. Or he'll say that I made it all up because I really want to be with Logan. It'll just lead to another huge fight. What am I going to do?" Jean sniffled.

Ororo didn't know what words of advice to offer her, so she hugged her instead. It was just all so unreal. Scott and the word "cheat" just didn't go in the same sentence. "You have to talk to him." Ororo insisted.

"I _can't_!" Jean repeated with more fervor. Ororo had never known Jean not to talk about something that was bothering her, especially when it came to her relationship with Scott. Maybe, it was much more serious than she realized.

"I'm sure that I'm due for some vacation time at the office. We'll make a date of this, okay?" Ororo said, stroking Jean's hair, changing the subject. "We'll go to Negril or wherever you want to go and forget all about men while we sip Piña Coladas on the beach."

They didn't talk about Scott, anymore, as they took their lunch in the garden. They reminisced about the old days, but were careful not to tread on any talk that was too painful.

———

Logan didn't open her briefcase immediately. He debated with himself before he actually went through with it. He even left the room, thinking that maybe it would be gone by the time he got back. It wasn't. He took that as a sign to mean that it was all right to snoop through it. The clasps of the briefcase opened in his hands with a pop.

He paused before he opened the briefcase. If he did this now, there would be no turning back. He reasoned that if she was trouble, then they should know, right? On top of her papers was a manila folder, a man's picture was clipped to the outside with a paperclip. He recognized the man in the photo. It was Davis Cameron.

Davis Cameron's father had contacted the X-Men seeking protection for his son who was coming to New York to handle business for him. Logan never knew what came of the conversation between Chuck and Davis's dad, but he knew that it hadn't ended too well. Was Ororo part of the business that Davis was handling?

He didn't get a chance to snoop any further, as Ororo reentered the parlor. She moved toward him, quickly, slamming the briefcase shut. She barely missed his fingers in the process. She glared at him, any earlier hint of politeness and warmth ebbing with the passing seconds.

"Snooping isn't polite," she said in a voice that was about three degrees cooler than her usual speaking voice.

"Who said I was polite?" he asked. "You got somethin' you tryin' to hide?"

He took the glare she gave him to mean that she did. "You do not just go rambling through a person's private belongings because you feel like it. Now, if you will excuse me," she said. She never let her voice rise above its soft timbre, but it continued to grow colder.

In the foyer, she was all smiles again, as she prepared to leave. "Couldn't you take the rest of the day off?" Jean asked hopefully.

"Too much work and I have other engagements this evening, too." Ororo answered. She hugged Jean, tightly. "We'll talk soon and make plans. Maybe, we can meet up for dinner, soon."

He followed her from the mansion, just to ease his curiosity about her. She was probably harmless, but he had to be sure. She took a cab back into the city. He followed at a safe distance on his bike. She got out in front of a boutique and started walking. She moved in the same manner she had in the mansion, prowler-mode. She didn't go directly to work.

She dawdled around, window-shopping, for a little while. She even went into a store or two but came out empty-handed. Then, she went to a small, open café, opened her briefcase, and took out the folder that he'd seen. She studied the picture on the front for a moment before unclipping it from the folder. She opened the folder and removed some papers.

He saw her eyes move slowly from left to right while she sipped on a cup of coffee. She read and reread the papers from her folder. What he doing sitting there watching her? She was probably just doing work, but he couldn't shake the feeling he had about her. There were some things that already didn't add up in his mind.

Finally, she left the café, and he followed her to a large, looming building with level after level of windows—Shaw Enterprises. She threw away the cup and walked into the building. She worked for Sebastian Shaw. Sebastian Shaw was the leader of the Hellfire Club, the innermost circle being comprised of all mutants. They were suspected in a number of illegal activities, but nothing that could be linked back to them. Being rich had its advantages.

The Hellfire Club wasn't the only place where questionable activities went on. Shaw Enterprises was suspected of some shady business ethics, as well. Once again, nothing could be proven. The fact that she worked for Shaw didn't make her evil, but it didn't make her good, either. He knew that working for Shaw didn't make her evil, but it didn't make her good, either. Shaw's establishments were a breeding ground for criminal activities.

This didn't prove anything besides she worked for a maniac, whether that made her a bad person or not was still up for the debate. Jean mentioned she was a personal assistant. That didn't mean she was Shaw's personal assistant. She could've worked for any number of people in that building, but she was still on Shaw's payroll regardless.

He just couldn't see that many people working for a company and everyone blind to what Shaw was doing. He wouldn't believe it. It was all a matter of survival. They were protecting their high profile, overpaying jobs. He'd turn the other cheek, too, if it were him.

He turned and started to walk away until the wind shifted. Her scent rode the winds, and he turned back to the Shaw's building. She was walking back out again, but she was no longer wearing the suit from earlier. She was dressed in all black, the outfit fitting her like a second skin, her hair flowing freely down her back. She was no longer the prim and proper businesswoman who told him that snooping wasn't polite.

She ran her free hand through her hair before walking to a black car parked in front of the building. She got in the passenger side. His bike was still parked close to the café. She would be gone by the time he got it, but he had a feeling she was going to pay Davis a visit. And if she wasn't, it wouldn't hurt to ride by just to make sure.

———

Ororo picked the lock easily without a sound, slipping into the man's apartment. She knew he would be in his bedroom watching a tape of Aussie Rules Football. He did so every night at 11pm without fail. She knew Cameron's routine by heart, following him for nearly a week and a half. She'd taken the rest of the day off after lunch with Shaw's approval.

She made one last appeal to Cameron. At least, that's what he thought it was. What she was really doing was taking in the fine details of his apartment. She'd been there before, but she liked to investigate again from time to time just to be sure. He still wasn't biting. Not that it mattered. "An alliance, Mr. Cameron, would be in everyone's best interest," she'd said while mentally thinking of all the ways she could take him out at that moment.

Davis Cameron was the mutant son of a renown Australian crime lord. He was definitely a "babe-magnet," as he liked to refer to himself, with his sun-kissed skin lightly dusted with freckles, silky, blonde hair that fell into his eyes, and his athletic build. Cameron had always let it be known that he was more interested in surfing, women, and the AFL than business.

The man sent his son in his place to negotiate with Sebastian about the "terms" of an alliance. Sebastian even put the Cameron up in an apartment to make his stay more comfortable. Ororo thought it was more like subtle bribery, a way of saying, "You scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours."

Cameron's father wanted a bigger share than Sebastian was willing to give. They negotiated for weeks and still no agreement. Sebastian shrugged and said he would count his losses, but no heir for Cameron's father meant that if something "accidentally" happened to the man in Australia, then someone would have to take over his "business."

Ororo wondered where all these alliances and acquisitions were going. Sebastian had been almost maniacal in them. The way he was going he was going to control much of the economy, but someone would stop him before that really happened. Right? He couldn't amass that much power without someone stopping him.

She slid along the wall of the apartment, silently, creeping toward the bedroom. The door was already opened, and she stood observing him. He was completely unaware that she was standing there. He was immersed in the world of football. He reached for a glass on his nightstand, turning his head toward her, dropping it to the floor when he glanced her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in alarm, jumping from his bed.

"Sending you Mr. Shaw's regards," she said coolly.

She could hear someone in the apartment, running towards the bedroom. She had to make this quick. She struck hard, and she struck fast before he could do anything. Two fingers to the throat to cut off his air supply for a moment. While he tried to catch a breath, she grabbed one of his arms and used her elbow to strike him in the chest. She pushed him back not letting go of his arm. A kick to his vitals—once, twice—pulling him into her hard.

She pulled one of the twin blades from her the case and plunged it deep in his abdomen. She backed away from him, letting his body fall to the floor. He was still breathing. She stood motionless for a moment. Should she escape or finish the job? A quick twist of the neck, and it would all be over. _No time_, she said to herself, rushing to the window.

———

Logan ran into the room, just as she slipped through the window. Davis's body was on the floor. He was alive. He knew he should've tried to get help for Cameron first, but he followed her out the window. He had to see her face to face, to let her know that he'd seen her, knew what she was up to.

He could see her just disappearing onto the roof while he climbed the ladder to the top. When he reached the roof, everything was silent, but he could smell her. There weren't many places to hide on the roof, anyway. When he found her, she took a defensive stance against him, twin blades in her hands, one still stained with Cameron's blood.

Her eyes were cold, empty. She seemed like a different person completely. She made the first strike, underestimating him. He slapped her hand away easily. He could tell she wasn't trying. It was more like a warning strike. Instinct took over and when she lashed out at him again with her blades, his claws surfaced, slicing through the metal of her blades as if they were warmed butter. He could smell her panic, her fear, as the edges of her blades fell to her feet. Her eyes widened in disbelief and she swallowed hard.

She let the remaining parts of her blades slip from her hands. There was a standstill moment. Neither moved, and then the spell was broken. She turned and ran from him. "Hey! Wait!" He called, pursuing her. The winds started to howl furiously, as he gave chase. She didn't even pause when she came to the edge of the roof. She hopped on the sill of the roof and jumped.

"Don't–" He started, but instead of taking the nosedive he expected, she seemed to dash across the space between the buildings as if she was running on air.

She landed on the next rooftop with ease. She turned to look at him, extending one hand palm up. She beckoned him with her fingers. "Bring it," he heard her say, her mocking laughter dancing on the winds.

He looked over the edge. He may be considered indestructible, but he wasn't stupid. He knew he would never make that jump, and he had no desire to eat pavement. Healing was a bitch, anyway. He backed away from the edge of the roof, never taking his eyes off her. She made no move, and he half-expected her to stand there, waiting for him to do something.

The toe of his boot hit something, causing it to scrape against the rooftop. He looked down at the object – her blades. He heard movement in her direction, and he jerked his head back to where she was standing. She was gone. He sighed. She wasn't going to make this easy. He stooped and picked up one of her broken blades, inspecting it carefully. On the handle, opened mouth double dragons intertwined around one another, encircling a shimmering, golden blossom, one ruby eye from each dragon glinted back at him. He knew that insignia.

It was associated with an exclusive underground club, the _Kurogaisha_. Not just anybody could get into that club. It was reserved for the elite. He'd heard it was housed in an auction house that was part of Shaw's turf. Must've been half-true. "Looks like I just got an invite," he muttered to himself, gripping the handle in his hand.

———

Ororo hadn't made a blunder like that one since her first kill. She thought she'd seen Logan following her earlier, but she hadn't been sure. She thought she caught a glance of him, but when she looked again, she saw nobody. She figured if he was really following her he would've given up because she took her time going back to Shaw Enterprises, but he fooled her.

She thought she could wait him out on the roof. She was actually surprised he followed her. She figured he would eventually go back in to help Cameron by calling the ambulance, and she would slip in and finish the job while he was on the phone. She knew he would have to go out of the bedroom. She hadn't seen a phone in the bedroom where Cameron's body was located. He killed that idea, too.

Why had he followed her onto the roof in the first place? Shouldn't his first priority have been Cameron? Maybe, she hadn't wounded Cameron as badly as she thought she had and that had given him a chance to follow her. She couldn't believe it, though. She was accurate for the most part. She sat back in the chair, nearly slumping. Victor looked her questioningly. She'd been in a pretty nasty mood since she'd gotten to The _Kurogaisha_.

The room they occupied was reserved only for the members of the inner circle of the Hellfire Club and their "playthings." They were always far removed from everyone else, believing their money was better than every other rich person's in the world. She wasn't part of the inner circle; she was just told to meet Sebastian there.

She sat at one of the tables with Victor, contemplating how she was going to tell Sebastian that she hadn't been able to finish what she'd started. With any luck, though, Cameron would be dead.

She hadn't missed with her kicks; she was sure of it. She kicked him hard enough to rupture his spleen and his kidneys. He would have to bleed out, however, and she was sure that Logan probably got him help before that. She hadn't been so sure with her blade. Her mark hadn't been true, and she didn't think she hit anything that would cause him serious damage. It was a clean penetration wound and probably missed all vital organs.

"Whaddya mean you didn't complete your assignment?" Victor asked her when she finally told him what was bothering her.

"How can I put this? The mission was aborted. _I failed_." She hissed at him, angrily. What didn't he understand? Not completing her mission didn't bother her more than the fact that Logan been following her, and she hadn't even known it. She was supposed to be better than that. She was supposed to know when someone was tailing her.

"Why?" A demand rather than a question.

_Because not everyone can be the perfect killing machine like you_, she thought to herself. "Because I was nearly caught," she said instead, taking another sip of her wine.

"Bullshit. You're too good to get caught unless you _wanted_ to get caught," he said.

"Yeah, Vic, I _really_ wanted to be caught. I always thought prison orange would suit me." Ororo said with a roll of her eyes. Being caught was the last thing she wanted.

"You nearly got caught by a cop?" he asked, incredulously.

"No, he wasn't a cop," she said slowly. He might as well have been, though. She knew how the X-Men felt about anything illegal, and she'd done her best to keep it away all these years. She visited the mansion one time, and this was what she got in return.

She decided that it was best to omit the part about knowing who it was and the part about the metal claws that sliced through her blades. Her blades! She reached for her scabbards only to find them empty. _Shit_, she cursed to herself. She had panicked when he had destroyed her weapons. If his claws could slice through metal, she could only imagine what they would do to skin and bone, and she sure as hell hadn't wanted to stick around to find out.

"Shaw's gonna be pissed when he hears this one." Victor said with a snort.

Did he honestly think she didn't already know that? "Thanks, Victor. I _really_ appreciate your vote of confidence," she said, scathingly, casting him a sideways glance. She sighed heavily, wishing she could just hurry up and get it over with.

———

**Author's Notes:** First, I wanted to say that I haven't forgotten about my other stories. I'm having to use our desktop "Big E" (stands for Big Evil) to write for now until the laptop is back running. So, I'm somewhat limited to the stories I'll be updating at this time since some of them are on my laptop's hard drive. However, don't hold me to that because I may rewrite some of my chapters. But since it's me, probably not.

DyingStar, you're going to spoil me with all your super nice reviews. I actually meant to put in my summary that this was a ROLO story, but I forgot. I appended it to the summary, though. I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I'm having a blast writing it because it's something a little different for me, and I think it's going well.

xhollowx2003, I'm updating as fast as my fingers will let me type, girl. This story is already 20,000 words strong and growing, so I shouldn't have a problem getting something out fairly regularly.

Thanks for all your nice reviews, everyone. This was very experimental, and I'm glad that you all thought it came out well. :) I was actually somewhat nervous about this story because I've been working on the idea for so long that I didn't know what expect myself. I still don't. I have an outline, but this story has changed and evolved so much from the initial idea that I wouldn't be surprised if it continued to do so.

Chapter title comes from the song "Who's that Girl" by Madonna.

"Machine gun blues" is a phrase from the song "Love" by The Smashing Pumpkins

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Next Chapter: Entr'acte: God's Hand 


	3. Entr'acte: God

**_Entr'acte: God's Hand_**

Sebastian looked out the window of his office, looking out over the dark city, choosing not to appear too eager in the man's presence. Eagerness was always a sign of weakness. If someone saw you were eager about something, they could use that eagerness to their advantage. Something that Sebastian would rather avoid.

His son was too eager, and Sebastian regarded him as a fool that had to be looked after like a child. Eagerness got him into trouble that only his father could buy him out of. Sebastian believed his constant warnings about playing the fool went right over Shinobi's head. Sometimes, Sebastian really wondered… but that was a thought best left for another time.

Sebastian offered the man refreshments, but the man politely refused. However, his refusal had an air of superiority to it that Sebastian hadn't liked, and Sebastian wondered what right did that man have to feel superior when he was sitting in the office of one of the most powerful men in the city. If he hadn't been curious about the reasons why the man was there, he would have had him escorted out of the building.

He'd taken the meeting as a joke, just because the man said it would be worth his time. People always said their propositions were worth his time, but this one was really proving to be worth his time. The man had piqued Sebastian's interest when he told him that he could make him one of the most powerful mutants in the world.

Power had always appealed to Sebastian Shaw the way candy appealed to a child. He could never get enough of it, even when they said it was too much, even when it was obvious that he was being overly greedy in his conquests. He felt that one could never gain enough power, and he hoped to one day gain enough power to rule America, the world even.

His colleagues laughed and called him overly ambitious. What one man could hope to wield that kind of power over the world? Yet, he still made acquisition after acquisition, gaining more and more power in the process. His business practices proving to be more scrupulous than ever, while his colleagues murmured amongst themselves, wondering how Sebastian acquired so much power.

They all forgot one very important thing when it came to Sebastian. Never underestimate him or the lengths he was willing to go to obtain a goal. Business wasn't about playing the game fair or looking out for the lesser man. Business was a shark tank, a cutthroat commerce, filled with predators that were waiting for the first sign of blood.

He never forgot that, and his colleagues were just as soon to remember it as well, lest they fall prey to Sebastian Shaw. If business was a shark tank, Sebastian saw himself as the biggest, dangerous, most antagonizing predator in the tank. He had no sense of pity when it came to business. He was willing to take out the upstart businesses as well as the established old money companies, as long as it suited him.

His means of obtaining acquisitions may not have been the most "honest" avenues of business, but in the end, none of that matter. He still had more of the pie than his competitors, despite the means he used to get it, and he was always looking for more. Maybe, that did make him greedy, but that still didn't change the fact that he wanted more. And he would get more no matter what it took.

So, of course, he wanted to hear what this man had to say, even if turned out to hold little ground. You never knew when that chance opportunity might arise. Even if he sent the man away and laughed at his proposal, he could say that he did listen instead of turning the man away. That's was how you made advancements in business. Sometimes, you just had to listen.

The man, it turned out, was a scientist who worked independently at his own "company." He said that structured companies always claimed that his inventions and experimentations were too extreme, so he worked for himself, selling his products and services to the highest bidder. He boasted an impressive clientele—everyone from the American government to terrorist organizations.

He worked for and against the same people who paid him, providing them with things that they believed would further their agenda. He said he mostly made weapons and body-enhancing drugs. Peace was only publicly promoted to ease the fears of the people. In reality, a war had always been raging between different rivaling sects.

Sebastian didn't know whether to like the man or loathe him. He did know one thing. He distrusted the man. He'd learned early in his career the golden rule of business. DTA. Don't trust anyone. He particularly didn't trust this man, however. There was just something about him that warned Sebastian to really watch him, especially if he accepted his proposal.

Obviously, the man's loyalties swayed with his whims, and Sebastian didn't want to find himself on the end of a deal that may hurt his accomplishments in any way.

Sebastian only wondered why him? Why had he chosen to share his information with him? He asked the man as much. This man said nothing he did ever was ever free. Of course, he wanted something in exchange, and he thought Sebastian would be the one most willing to meet his price. He'd pegged Sebastian as the type of man who was willing to go to great lengths for power.

"And how do you plan to make all this possible?" Shaw asked. He expected a long explanation of something that seemed far-fetched, ridiculous and riddled with scientific fog, but Sebastian was hopeful still that maybe this was something more. Sebastian waited patiently for the man's response, taking his silence to be uncertainty. But when the man spoke, his voice was sure despite him only uttering two words.

"God's Hand…"

———

**Author's Notes:** An entr'acte is an interlude, meaning that's why this chapter is so short. :P These will be scattered throughout the story, a little something for pacing that I wanted to try.

DyingStar, I don't mind your reviews at all. I think they're wonderful, entertaining, and insightful. Your thoughts and questions give me something to think about as I'm writing the story.

That goes for everyone. Your thoughts, insights, and questions give me a lot to think about while I'm working on this story. The readers sometime have a bigger influence than they think on the story, even if I go in the opposite direction of what is expected or wanted.

Now, that I have this story all caught up. I'll be updating this story on the same schedule that I'm updating it on other sites—about every other day. Maybe a little slower until my laptop is revived.

* * *

_Next Chapter: "Hey now, now, my neo geisha…"_


	4. Chapter Three

**_Chapter Three  
"Hey, now, now, my neo geisha…"_**

Ororo sat in Sebastian's office waiting his arrival. She always felt dwarfed in Sebastian's office, which was bigger than most people's apartments, including hers. He had a fondness for dark woods paired with soft colors, and she'd never seen so many windows in one room in her life. Ororo heard the door opened and she felt her spine turn to steel.

She wasn't particularly looking forward to this meeting. "Hello, Ms. Munroe," a soft voice said behind her. Ororo relaxed in her chair. It wasn't Sebastian.

"Hello, Tessa." Ororo said, as the dark-haired woman walked into her view.

"Mr. Shaw will be with you momentarily," she said, conveying little emotion. If there was anyone Ororo felt hid their emotions better than she did, it was Tessa. Tessa endured everything without ever betraying a hint of emotion. "He had an important meeting. It's running over, of course."

"Of course," Ororo said with a chuckle. Sebastian's meetings never ended on time.

Ororo didn't get a chance to talk to Sebastian the night before. He had some important meeting that couldn't wait. She relayed her message about Cameron through Tessa, Sebastian's "pet." She'd always felt a certain degree of pity where Tessa was concerned. She knew Tessa was a mutant, but she didn't know what her powers were. Tessa wasn't allowed to speak about them.

"Would you care for tea, Ms. Munroe?" Tessa asked, interrupting Ororo's thoughts.

"No, I wouldn't want to inconvenience you." Ororo said to the woman.

Sebastian had acquired Tessa through one of his own auctions, the sordid things. She knew because she was there at the time, standing on the outside of the crowd while Tessa was paraded around with the other mutant women like a herd of cattle. Ororo hadn't been robed as the buyers were. She'd only slipped in after the auction begun.

Ororo hadn't thought the robes were a necessary precaution. The lights on the floor were too dim for anyone to be recognizable, but the lights pointed at the podium were bright, literally blinding those on the stage. She believed the robes were more of an intimidation factor than anything. What was scarier than not knowing the face of your captor until after he or she "owned" you? She'd even heard horror stories about slaves who were auctioned who never knew their masters' face.

After a slave was bought, he or she was collared for their master's convenience and were usually forced to take on the crest of that master. The crest tattooed on Tessa's shoulder blade was that of the "Black King" of the Hellfire Club. She couldn't say that she'd ever seen Sebastian be cruel to Tessa, but there was a lot going on there that she didn't care to know about.

At the club, she saw Tessa being led around by Shaw wearing little more than underwear, but then again, Emma was known for walking around with far less on, but she wasn't Sebastian's "pet."

"It's no inconvenience. It's what I am here for." Tessa said.

"No, it isn't." Ororo said.

Tessa met Ororo's eyes, but neither woman said anything. Tessa was nobody's "slave," or "pet," or "familiar," or whatever he referred to her these days. She was a free woman who should've been living whatever life she chose to live. _Goddess, I have to get away from this place_, she reminded herself. Ororo watched Tessa walk to the large bar that occupied a corner of Sebastian's office.

Sometimes, she wondered how she continued to look herself in the mirror knowing what she did, the things she pretended not to see. She used to believe that she didn't have a heart any longer, that her heart had been swallowed into some dark void. But now, as she watched Tessa leave the office again, she realized that maybe she hadn't quite lost her heart. She'd just buried her emotions, but it was getting harder and harder to continue.

"I'm getting way too old for this," she said to herself, reaching for the cup.

She heard the door open, again, and she quickly placed her cup back on the table. Sebastian walked by her a whirlwind of navy blue and expensive cologne. "What happened?" he demanded. He didn't look at her, as he stood facing his windows, a gesture he often performed. He didn't sound particularly angry, but he didn't sound happy either.

"I was followed." She said simply, not caring to elaborate. What more could she say? She'd let her guard down, or maybe, he was just that damn good. Either way, she'd been followed. That was the short and the long of it.

She'd been followed by one of the last people in the world that she wanted to be followed by. She worried that Logan would tell Jean more than she worried about him telling the whole team. She couldn't say that she knew exactly what Jean would do, but she knew Jean had a heart of gold. Jean believed there was an easy solution to every problem. Optimism blinded Jean at times.

If she were lucky, Jean would be angry with her, making it much easier to keep her personal life separated from this life. Jean was her last tie to anything to do with the world outside of Shaw Enterprises. She'd been lucky all these years to keep them separated. Now, it seemed like her luck was starting to run out.

He turned to her, suddenly. "Why didn't you eliminate both threats?" he asked. His voice was still even, but his eyes held some malice. She'd never incurred his wrath before, and she wondered if this was the metaphorical calm before the storm.

_Destroy all who see you…_

That was a lesson from those early days. Witnesses were always discouraged in the business, but she'd rarely had to deal with witnesses in her time as an assassin. It was always best to eliminate any witnesses to the crime unless there were too many to handle, and when that happened witnesses could never agree on details. You always had one person who was more vocal than the rest and made the other witnesses believe they saw something they really hadn't.

She didn't exactly know what to say to Sebastian. She hadn't been able to eliminate Logan because he scared the shit out of her. She didn't really want to hurt anyone from the X-Men. Besides, she didn't know if she could really "eliminate" him, anyway. She couldn't tell Sebastian any of that. She couldn't tell him that she knew who witness was. She tried to form a feasible explanation in her mind.

"I couldn't. He wasn't some meddling human. He was a mutant, and he surprised me by being more aggressive than I gave him credit for," she said sounding defeated. That was the best she could do, considering her stress level at the moment. "He might have been watching Cameron." That was a blatant lie, but she hoped it sounded believable.

"Figures his father might do something like having another mutant to protect him," he muttered under his breath. Ororo almost raised her eyebrows in surprise that he believed her. But then, wasn't it a little odd that Cameron's father hadn't insisted on any protection for his son since his stay in the States? Was his father really foolish enough to believe he intimidated Sebastian enough for him not to attempt something like this?

"I can finish what I started," she said. Hospitals were easy to infiltrate in her opinion. The hospital had plenty of people in them, all potential witnesses, but in spite of all the people who were present in the hospital, the hospital was one of the easiest places to handle business.

He sighed deeply and said, "Don't bother. Victor has already taken care of your mistake." Ororo could only imagine Victor storming the hospital with as much fanfare as the President, laying waste to everything in his path. She knew it would likely be on the evening news, if it already wasn't the story of the hour. "Just so you know. You'll be working the White room tonight. Unfortunately, I had to _terminate_ one of the girls," he added, changing the subject suddenly.

That meant more than likely the girl had threatened to talk if Sebastian didn't comply with some demand. It didn't happen often, but from time to time, the workers liked to think they could manipulate Sebastian. And Sebastian, never the one to comply with anyone's demands, made sure they were taken care of. If there was one thing Sebastian hated, it was someone thinking they could get the upper hand on him. Bullying typically didn't work with him.

"Yes," was all she said in response, waiting for him to get back on the subject of the botched assassin attempt. He dismissed her, and she felt like asking him, "Is that it?" Shouldn't he have yelled at her or something? She knew that couldn't be all. He didn't even reprimand her. She knew that wasn't the end of that. He'd find a way for her to make it up or his name wasn't Sebastian Shaw.

The White room was nicknamed the Sakura Blossom because all the women—some of them barely women—dressed as geishas. It was an elegant room, filled with plush, white carpet, gold trimming, white marble bars that seemed to run the whole length of the club. Golden, open-mouth dragons soared across the walls, a ruby eye promising terror glittered enticingly.

The atmosphere was soothing. Men and women sat at one of the many elegant tables, taking their poison of choice, whether it was alcohol or drugs. They made small talk with one another, talking about their mergers, the stock market, and the next company to go down in flames Enron-style—moneyed duplicity.

She didn't mind working the White room so much. She worked in the room from time to time for various reasons—mostly when someone had been "terminated." Sometimes, when the crowd was going to be larger than usual, such as when people came from out of town. She had it easier than the other women did. Most of them, this was all they did. True, their main job was to entertain and serve the people in the room, but that wasn't the main attraction of the room.

Silent bidding wars raged over the women's body. And while Sebastian always paid well for your "services," she just couldn't see giving anyone her body because he'd or she'd won "the right." She didn't have to participate in the other side of working the White room. Sebastian often commented that she'd fetch a pretty price in the White room. She didn't care how much some oversexed snob was willing to pay for sex. She'd walk out of the club and disappear forever before she subjected herself to that.

She entered the dressing room through a private entry that only employees used. The dressing room was large, occupying many girls in various states of undress. She spoke to everyone respectfully before taking a seat in a chair. A man was at her side in minutes, smiling at her while offering her a mineral water. She accepted and listened to his polite chitchat while he freed her hair from the bun that she'd worn for work.

It didn't matter how clean the women were. Groomers were assigned the task of "cleaning" the women. The groomers were always male, and while that should've caused alarm, it didn't. They were eunuchs, men who'd been castrated. For every woman there was in the room, there was one eunuch to groom her. Being "groomed" was more embarrassing than it was alarming.

Sebastian preferred it this way. He claimed women groomers were given to petty jealousy and often did things to damage "his goods." And he said it was obvious why he didn't use men who were not castrated, even gay men. He just couldn't take that chance. So, the women were taken care of by these quiet-spoken, even-tempered men. Some of them appearing nearly androgynous in nature.

Ororo was always the last to dress and always the last to enter the main room. It wasn't because of embarrassment about her body. She didn't have to be "groomed." However, she felt better when she comforted the others first. Many of them cried while they prepared for a night in the White room. So, she worked with the groomers to soothe the women.

The groomers were gentle with the woman and were always trying to comfort them, but sometimes, it took a woman's touch to get them through this. She often asked them why they didn't seek something better, and the answer was always the same. Who would pay them the money that Sebastian did? For some of them, all they had going was their bodies and little else.

Grooming consisted of this. A woman was taken and bathed, as if she were just a child, by one of the eunuchs. Her hair, which had to be a certain length for the "split peach" style they would eventually wear—extensions were unacceptable, was washed thoroughly. She was then taken and oil was massaged into her skin with precision.

The hair was next. One of the groomers, a hairdresser during the day, taught Ororo how to style the women's hair in the "split peach." While she was helping, she found that it was the prefect opportunity to try to ease a woman's fears. Bonding over hair, women had been doing it for years. She couldn't say how many stories she'd heard while working on a woman's hair.

Afterwards, the women were dressed in their kimonos. Beautifully ornate robes of different colors adorned each girl. No girl wore the same color. Neither was the design ever the same on any of the kimonos. Make-up came last. Some even went as far as to take the traditional makeup of a geisha, but they really didn't have to go that far.

By the time they had to enter the room, they were transformed into these confident, beautiful women, ready to put on a show for all the waiting people. You wouldn't believe only a short time before some of them had been on the verge of a breakdown.

Ororo always wore white, but she did not wear a kimono. She wore a Mandarin-collared robe. Her hair was done in a simple knot, nothing like the elaborate hairstyle the other women wore. It served to show that she was unavailable, though people still asked.

The patrons of the White room were always courteous. They had to adhere to certain rules of the room or they'd find themselves thrown out on their ear, answering to the wrath of Sebastian Shaw. They were never to grab or grope the girls. Such behavior was best left for a low-class bar (or the Blue room in Ororo's opinion), and they weren't paying for low-class there.

She walked around the room, smiling, refilling drinks, laughing at bad jokes. "Damn," she heard one of the men say when she walked past. "It's love." She threw him a wink over her shoulder. She knew better than to take anyone in that place seriously, but she could play up to the attention.

One of the women walked up to her, speaking softly into Ororo's ear. "That man over there is asking about you," she said, pointing at a table in a far corner of the room.

Ororo's eyes traveled in the direction that she pointed, and she shook her head in disbelief. Boot-clad feet rested on a table and a cigar hung out the corner of his mouth dangerously. _Oh, it can't be_, she said to herself, but sure enough, she met Logan's eyes. For a second, she paused and her heart caught in her throat.

She reasoned with herself that that reaction was just nervousness and not anything more. After all, he _had_ ruined her mission, and she was supposed to be pissed off about that. But even now, as she walked toward him resolutely, she felt the first stirrings of attraction. There was just some kind of magnetism he emitted that lured her in.

_Keep it together, Ororo,_ she said to herself. "Surprised to see me, darlin'?" he asked, grabbing her wrist before she could demand what he was doing there and why he was asking about her. She didn't pull away from him, not wanting to draw attention to them. She casually tried to wrench her wrist out of his grasp, but his hold was unyielding.

He didn't release her wrist, even as she sat in the chair across from him. Did he think she was going to run off? After last night, he probably did think she was going to bolt at any second. She suppressed a shudder and looked down at his hands. His knuckles were flawless, showing no evidence that anything had ever came out of his hands.

"What are you doing here?" she questioned, keeping her voice low. She hoped that he hadn't come to the club to make any trouble about what happened the night before. Nobody there would care what she'd been up to the night before. He'd only end up making unnecessary trouble for himself.

"A glorified secretary, huh? More like a glorified whore for Shaw," he said, not answering her question.

His words stung, but she'd been called much worse in her lifetime. And to think she found herself tangled in her sheets that morning because of a dream about him, even though he did catch her. "You don't know my circumstances. You don't know me at all," she said scornfully. How dare he come and pass judgment on her.

"Ororo!" a voice called behind her. Logan released her wrist and turned toward the voice. She stood quickly, as a blonde man rushed up to her. She positioned her body in front of him, so he couldn't be seen. Why was she hiding him? He was a big boy. He should be able to handle the consequences of actually having the nerve to sneak into The _Kurogaisha_. Yet, she didn't make a move to reveal him to the man who stood before her. "You are needed in the Arena."

She raised her eyebrows at him in surprise. Why could she possibly be needed in the Arena? "Why?" she asked, hiding little of her surprise at the request.

"Mr. Shaw said that you were the main attraction tonight," the man answered.

Ororo's mouth gaped a little in surprise. The main attraction? That meant she was actually fighting in the Arena. Ororo had never stepped foot inside the Arena before. She'd seen the ruthless show of aggression, a barbaric show of needless violence, but she'd never participated. She knew Sebastian would find a way to get her.

Before she followed the man out of the White, Logan grabbed her hand. She'd been a little surprised by the familiar way his fingers had grabbed her, as opposed to the way he grabbed her wrist earlier. "The Arena?" he asked.

"None of your concern. You should be more concerned with finding a way out of here," she said before turning away from him again to catch up with the man.

She caught up with the man outside of the room, quickening her step to fall into pace with him. "Your opponent is one of Oswald's assassin, so don't think you're going to just get in and get out without any problems," he told her.

Ororo nodded. She wasn't foolish enough to believe they would put her against an amateur. If this was her punishment, it wasn't supposed to be quick and easy. "Which one?" she asked. She hoped he said Loundis. She'd been aching for a reason to break his hand after that last meeting between Oswald and Sebastian.

Oswald and Sebastian were close business partners. Well, as close as they could be despite obvious distrust of one another. During the last meeting that Oswald and Sebastian had, Loundis proved how much of a pig he really was. The last straw came when he touched her one time too many and she chopped him in the throat. Of course, Sebastian chided her before she could really tear into him.

"Can't you handle a little male attention?" Sebastian had asked her after he stopped her from kicking Loundis where it counted. Male attention her ass. And even though she was the one who chopped him in the throat, he smirked at her until the meeting was over and even had the nerve to invite her to dinner before he left.

"Destin," the man finally said. She repeated the name to herself. She couldn't say that she knew him. She'd heard of him, but she had never actually seen him. He was very elusive from what she understood, and Oswald liked it that way. Ororo wondered why Oswald was willing to risk the life of a man who his prized assassin. Because one thing was for sure, one of them wouldn't come out of the Arena alive.

———

It hadn't taken a lot of ingenuity to get inside of the club. He entered through one of the side doors that was reserved for staff only. When the bouncer at the door said he didn't recognize Logan and would need to see some identification, the man accidentally slipped and knocked himself out on Logan's knuckles. _Oops_.

The _Kurogaisha_ was much bigger than he thought, and he made plenty of wrong turns and saw some things he hoped to never witness again before he found Ororo in one of the ritzier rooms where all the girls were dressed as geishas, except Ororo. She was dressed much simpler than the others were, but she was still much more beautiful than the rest. He reminded himself to keep his head on straight where she was concerned. She may be beautiful, but she was dangerous, very dangerous.

He asked one of the girls a million questions about Ororo—all of which she answered reluctantly before getting Ororo herself. Ororo did come over to his table, her blue eyes blazing, but they hadn't talked long before someone approached Ororo. Logan heard when the man told her she was needed in the Arena.

She started to leave, but he caught her hand. He didn't know what made him do it, but he quickly dropped it when she looked down at his hand taken aback. "The Arena?" he asked. That was one area of the club that he'd undoubtedly missed.

"None of your concern," she said ominously. "You should be more concerned with finding a way out of here."

He followed her out the room. She might've just given him a sound piece of advice, but he was more interested in where she was going than getting out. The man who approached the table told Ororo that she would be going against someone named Oswald's assassin. They diverged in front of the Arena.

He was herded with the rest of the crowd into a stadium, reminding him of something right out of a Roman history book. He pushed himself as close to the front as he could get, looking over into the arena. There were already two men fighting; both of them bloody beyond recognition. The crowd cheered lustfully for the men while people screamed out bets all around Logan.

One man gained the advantage when his opponent made a mistake, falling flat on his face. The man put a knee in the man's back and grabbed his head, ramming his face into the concrete over and over again while the crowd yelled "Oh! Oh! Oh!" in unison with his attack. The man stood victorious. The crowd went wild for him.

If this was any indicator of what Ororo was about to do, he didn't think he was going to like what he was about to see. He felt like he just took ten steps back into some third world country whose economy seemed to thrive on blood sports. Every single person around him had more money that he would ever see in one lifetime, though.

Ororo stepped into the arena first, a look of grim determination etched into her face. He could tell by her tense stance that she didn't want to be there. She still wore the white robe from earlier, but it was different. The sleeves of the robe were gone, showing off toned, slender arms. The bottom half of the robe converted into shorts, baring legs that seemed to go on into infinity. Some of the men whistled at her, but she looked neither to the right nor to the left.

Her opponent was tall and skinny. His hair, dyed an obscene shade of purple in Logan's opinion, fell into his face, and Logan wondered how he saw anything at all. He moved in a nonchalant way, as if this were of no consequence to him. Destin. There was a sort of cockiness that exuded from him. The corners of his mouth curled into a smile, as he studied Ororo.

He'd gathered from the man sitting beside him that sometimes they competitors fought with weapons, sometimes they fought with their powers, and sometimes they fought hand-to-hand. The only rule etched in stone was somebody had to die. The rules were always announced before the match. Ororo's match against Destin was a weapon match.

Destin chose a medieval style sword, whose tip looked sinisterly sharp. She chose twin blades, longer than the ones he's destroyed. They curved near the middle, giving them a crescent moon appearance. He was actually a little nervous for Ororo as he watched the two circle each other.

When they actually started fighting, Logan thought they were evenly matched. There movements seemed to be anticipated by the other. There'd been one point in the match where Destin managed to relieve Ororo of both her blades, but he gained no real advantage by doing so because Ororo soon knocked his sword from his hand.

Then, it was a hand-to-hand match, and neither seemed to interested in retrieving their weaponry—at first. Destin made the mistake of going for one of Ororo's blades to use against her. Inexperience with the oddly shaped blade caused his movements to come off as clumsy. She, however, was quite sure when she picked up Destin's sword.

In the final decisive moment, Destin swiped at her with the blade. She turned avoiding the strike. With her back still turned to Destin, she brought the sword up high, tuning the hilt of the sword away from her body so that the blade faced her. She swayed to the side a little, bringing the sword down between the space her body and her arm made.

Destin's mouth gaped at the sword caught him in the stomach. He hunched over from the impact, and Ororo removed the sword, cleanly. She turned to the man, letting the sword fall to the ground with a clang. Destin sank to his knees, losing more blood than seemed possible.

"Finish it!" the announcer's voice screamed over the loudspeakers, as the crowd cheered for blood. She picked up the twin blades, testing their weight in her hand, walking slowly toward Destin. She breathed deeply, reluctance made her movements jerky. She paused in front of Destin who was holding his stomach, blood poured through his fingers.

Logan could see Ororo and Destin's lips moving, and he tried to filter out the other sounds to hear what was being said. "…must not be afraid…" he heard Destin say, and that was all he could catch amidst the roars of the crowd.

Ororo took a deep breath, crossing her arms, causing the blades to form a full moon around her neck. He saw the slightest bit of a tremble in her hand, but before he could blink, before he could breath, she unfurled the blades, quickly, slicing through Destin's neck with both blades. Blood splattered on the front of the pristine outfit she wore, onto her face, into her hair. She turned from the now headless body, dropping the twin blades to the ground.

She had won.

The crowd went wild for her, but something was obviously wrong. Her movements showed all the signs. He saw her fall to her knees. Static crackled in the air, making the hair on his arms stand on edge. She was breathing deeply, too deeply. Hyperventilation. Logan's jaw tightened when he saw a hulking, blonde man walk into the arena and help her to her feet.

She disappeared through the doors leading out, and he pushed his way back to the main corridor of the Arena. She was alone and walking in the opposite direction of the Arena, still covered in Destin's blood. She walked quickly, and he followed. She walked into a room and slammed the door. He opened the door and saw her sitting a vanity table with her head in her hands.

"Go away, Victor," she said.

"Not Victor," he said behind her.

"You're not supposed to be here," she said, looking up. She stared at his reflection in the mirror. He didn't say anything, so she kept talking. "I have never been in the Arena before tonight. I have never known what it was like to take someone's life for sport." She sounded as if she were trying to give him some kind of explanation for what happened only moments earlier.

"Only for profit."

She gave him a scathing look. "If you've come to insult me any more, save your breath for somebody who cares," she said.

"But you do care."

She could play cold and detached all she wanted, but he knew she cared. "Why are you following me?" she asked him, not denying whether she cared or not.

"Because I need answers. I need to know why."

"Why do you care?"

"Because you've sent off warnin' signals since we met, an' I needed to know if you're a threat."

"Hardly. Why do you think I haven't visited the mansion in so long? I've been trying to keep away. I wouldn't want to cause any trouble for anyone at the mansion."

"Jean talks about ya all the time and it makes me wonder how you got wrapped up in all this."

"Revenge," she said with a slight smile. "At least, that's how it all started. It turned into something more after that, something that was inescapable. Now, I don't know why I continue. Maybe, I'm too afraid to change because this is all I know."

"You coulda came back to the mansion instead of becoming an assassin," he said. He didn't know what happened that led her to make this decision, but he knew she could've asked for the Professor's help.

She shook her head. "No, the mansion couldn't provide me with the kind of solace that I needed. I didn't want peace. I wanted my anger. I wanted my pain. It was all I had at the time to keep me strong, to remind me what needed to be done." Her voice was thick with emotion, and he expected the tears to come at any moment. But they didn't.

"What happened that was so bad you couldn't count on your friends?"

He thought she was about to tell him what caused this. "Have you ever known a rage that was so deep that you felt like it would choke you if you didn't sedate it somehow, the kind of rage that cries out for vengeance?" She asked him instead.

"The kind of rage that makes you mindless to everythin' else except that feeling of hatred," he said. He knew it, that dark feeling that pounded in your head, in your soul, making you deaf to everything and everyone.

Her eyes were shining with fervor. "Exactly. You do understand. Now, do you think that the Professor could have possibly provided me with the relief I needed?" she asked. He couldn't answer the question because he knew the answer was no.

"But what happened?" he asked again.

"I have to shower," she said suddenly, standing from her chair. She picked up some clothing and a robe and disappeared into the restroom.

Whatever happened, it was obviously something that Jean and Scott knew about. The Professor probably knew, as well. He could probably wring it out of Jeannie, but he would rather hear it from Ororo. He sat in the room, waiting for her return.

She came out of the bathroom refreshed, as if by showering away Destin's blood she had also showered away her past. She had the robe wrapped around her, but he could still see a peek of jeans under the robe.

"If it makes you feel any better, Logan, I do plan to get out of this. I can't do it anymore," she admitted, sitting across from him, an unexpected confession.

"When?"

"As soon as I can," she said, truthfulness lining her words. "It's time for me to move on with my life, to actually heal now."

He started to ask once again what happened, but she must've sensed it coming because she stood again. "I have to get you out of here. I'm surprised that you've managed to make it this far without anyone getting suspicious," she said.

He liked to think he was just a bit more normal than some of the people he'd seen earlier. At least, he wasn't prancing around on the end of someone's leash. Maybe his normalcy _is_ what should've made him stand out in a place like the _Kurogaisha_. She probably just didn't want him digging into her past anymore, though.

She faced the wall, letting her robe drop to the floor. She turned to him only slightly, and he could see the curve of her breast in the dim light. He wasn't so sure that was unintentional. "Could you please hand me my shirt?" she asked.

He looked from her to the shirt on the back of the chair. He didn't make a move immediately. Instead, he studied the way her muscles moved in her shoulders, the way her back tapered into a small waist that led the way to shapely hips, the same ones that beckoned when she walked. She made sound in her throat meant to gain his attention.

"Are you going to hand me that shirt, or am I going to have to get it myself?" she asked with just a bit of a smirk on her lips. If she turned around now, he wasn't responsible for what may or may not happen. He grabbed the shirt quickly and handed it to her. "Thank you."

She pulled the shirt over her head, sweeping her hair to the side for one moment, briefly revealing the tattoo he'd spied at the mansion. Keen eyesight revealed numbers this time. 1920151813. What the hell did it mean? Hell, it could just be some tattoo that she decided to get. Somehow, he didn't think so.

She turned around and walked past him, opening the door and peeking out. She waved him over, an indicator to follow her. She walked out the door, but pushed him back, just as he glimpsed two of the bouncers questioned someone. She closed the door behind her, leaving him alone in the room. He heard heavy footsteps becoming louder as someone walked toward the room. They paused right in front of the door where he knew Ororo stood.

"Have you seen anyone suspicious?" he heard a man with a deep, rumbling voice ask.

"What kind of question is that?" Ororo said with a laugh. "I see plenty of suspicious people working in a place like this. This place doesn't have a shortage of suspicious people."

"No, this place doesn't have shortage of fuckin' weirdoes. That's a little different from suspicious," deep voice said.

"What is this about?" Ororo asked, and she actually had a note of concern in her voice. Either she was a really good actress, or she thought he really had done something awful.

"Somebody attacked Roy and snuck into the club. We found him out cold at the backdoor. Didn't come to for a while. When he did, he said some guy was tryin' to use that entrance to get into the club."

"Poor Roy." Ororo said, her voice softening in worry. "Is he all right?"

"Yeah, he'll be okay. His jaw is a little busted up. Don't think it's broken since he's talkin' okay, but the boss told him to go to the hospital. He'd pick up the tab," deep voice said, sounding sympathetic. Logan hit him hard, but he didn't think he'd him hard enough to break his jaw.

"I always knew Roy was a fuckwit." Another voice, male, with a tinge of an accent he couldn't place.

"_Anyway_, we think the guy might still be here," deep voice continued.

"Roy said it felt like someone hit him with a lead pipe when the guy punched him. I believe the bastard's just soft," the other man said.

"What the hell is up with you bashin' Roy? Don't you got nothin' better to do? Oh, still mad he fucked your girl, huh?"

"You wanna repeat that?"

"Boys! _Boys!_ Can we please save the male aggression for the boys' bathroom?" Ororo asked, her voice commanding. The squabbling ceased. "What did he look like?"

"Roy said he was white, sort of short," deep voice paused. "'Bout this tall or so."

"Oh yeah, that _is_ short." Ororo said, chuckling a little, and the bouncers laughed with her.

"You know what they say about short men," deep voice said laughing harder. Ororo's laughter mixed with the bouncers, as they traded a series of short jokes for the next five minutes. _Why I oughta_, Logan said to himself, but he stayed where he was.

"He's stocky, not fat just solid from Roy's description. Muscular or whatever. He's dark-haired, got wild hair, some beard stubble. Said he had the look of a wild man."

Damn, that bouncer got a better look than he thought. "No, I haven't seen anyone that fits that description, but if I do, I'll let you know." Ororo said, her voice brightening.

"All right, we're going to go check out the Arena. Somebody said they saw him there," deep voice said. Logan heard retreating footsteps going back in the same direction they'd come from.

"Hey, why'd ya have to bring up all that shit about Roy and my girl?" he heard one of the bouncers ask, his voice starting to fade as they walked away. Through the door, he heard Ororo let out a breath. She opened the door.

"Follow me," she said, leading him in the opposite direction as the securities guard. She pushed past a couple of people who paid them little attention. They walked until they came to a part of the club that was deserted. "Do you always go around knocking people out?"

"He slipped—"

"And fell onto your knuckles, right?"

"Damn right."

Ororo laughed, as he followed her down a series of passageways that looked as if they hadn't been cleaned in years. Dust an inch thick settled on the walls where the cobwebs didn't cover them. He felt like he was being led into someone's dungeon. She told him they were the old service passages that were used before the new ones were built.

"So, what was with the short jokes back there?" he asked. He heard her chuckle lightly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by them," she said, pausing to look at him. Her blue eyes were full of mirth. "What you lack in height, I'm sure you make up in… other areas."

He was about to make a seething comment about the jokes "not meaning anything," but he quieted when he heard soft moans, wanting whimpers, and pillow talk seemingly coming from the walls. He thought he smelled the lingering smell of sex earlier, but he hadn't been so sure. Now, it was all around him.

"This was one of the reasons that Sebastian had new service ways built," she said quietly. "This place has always been a play place for the rich, even before Sebastian acquired it. The former owners seemed to enjoy the voyeuristic side of sex."

She removed one of the bricks from the wall, soundlessly, which turned out to be nothing more than a hollow block. Did that mean the whole wall was paper thin? Had to be. She touched the hole the block came from and he heard the soft sound of something sliding back. Soft light beamed from behind two holes in the wall.

"They would watch their patrons without their consent using paintings. How cliché is that?" she asked, touching her hand to the hole again, shutting off the light. She replaced the brick. "That was part of the reason the former owners went out of business. Remember that sex scandal with Senator Kincaid?"

"Yeah," he said. He remembered. Someone had taped the sick bastard with a girl who was barely thirteen. Whoever made the tape tried to use it to bribe the Senator, but when the Senator didn't hold to his promises, every news station in the country became privy to the Senator's unusual sexual appetites.

"Someone taped that right here one night. After that, things basically turned into a witch-hunt around here until the former owners were forced to close the place down. They couldn't have all their secrets getting out, after all."

"So, when Shaw took over, he had to insure nothin' like that would happen again."

"Exactly. It may seem rather pointless because it _could_ all happen all over again, but Shaw has some stiff rules. Sometimes, it's hard to believe the hold that he has over people, even his own peers. Sebastian was supposed to have these passages sealed off, but I think from time to time that someone still makes good use of them with Sebastian's knowledge."

"You think someone's still makin' tapes for blackmail with Shaw's approval."

"I'll tell you a secret. The Kincaid tape that was leaked to the media was deliberate. I know it was supposed to be someone's revenge against Kincaid because he wouldn't cave in to that person's demands. That's not true. Kincaid was more than willing to meet the demands of the person who made the tape."

"Are you sayin' Shaw made the tape or had someone to make the tape?"

"I'm not saying anything. I'm only telling you that I know the tape was made to ruin the careers of Kincaid and the former owners of this place," she said. She didn't say anything more, and he knew it would be useless to question her any further about it.

She led him through a small door that opened to the outside. "You're home free, now," she said. She started to close the door, but he pressed a firm hand against it.

"I didn't tell the others about you, not even Jeannie," he said.

She looked at him surprised. Then, she opened the door wide, grabbing him suddenly, pressing her lips to his. At first, she caught him off-guard with the gesture, but before long, he found himself kissing her back, savoring the taste of her lips against his. He placed his palm flat on the palm of her back, pressing her into him.

She pulled back, ending the kiss as swiftly as it started. "Call that a thanks," she said breathlessly. She winked and closed the door in his face.

_ The fuck just happened?_ He asked himself.

———

**Author's Notes**: This would've been out sooner, but I'm feeling under the weather and didn't want to post it without fixing any "glaring" mistakes. I skimped on the fight scene because this chapter was already insanely long at over 8,000 words (according to all mighty Word), and I didn't want it to turn into a monster. Sorry if this chapter ending seems a little rushed. I'll probably go back and fix all that later. The next chapter will be out as soon as I can muster up some more energy.

Chapter title comes from the song "Neo Geisha" by Zeromancer.

* * *

_Next Chapter: "If you ever get close to a human and human behavior, be ready to get confused…"_


	5. Chapter Four

_**Chapter Four  
"Man-sized, no need to shout, can you hear, can you hear me now…"**_

Ororo walked to the gravesite, slowly, solemnly. Every time she visited, she left with the same feelings—remorse, guilt, self-loathing. She used to "talk" to them, to try to explain that everything happened for a reason, but what reason was there for their deaths? She'd long stop talking, not because there wasn't anything left to say, but because sometimes talking was too painful. What good did talking do, anyway? It sure as hell wouldn't change anything.

Whenever she visited their graves, it always reminded her what she was really in this business for, what really fueled her. They were the reasons she'd chosen the life she had. She did this for them. But what had she accomplished? She hadn't kept her promise to finish what she started, to avenge their deaths. She hadn't found the target of her hate. She hadn't looked him in the eyes and made him beg for his life. His time would come, and when it did, she would be heartless in her strike.

"Bless their sweet souls," a voice said behind her. Ororo turned to face a matronly woman, the deep wrinkles in her face mapping out a story of her life. Her deep brown eyes watered, as she looked down at the graves and then back up at Ororo. "They were so young."

"Yes, they were." Ororo agreed softly, trying to keep her own tears from coming.

"I was visiting my husband, George, just a few feet away," the woman said pointing to Ororo's left. "I saw you. Such a pretty, young thing with so much on her shoulders. It's like a shroud of sadness surrounds you, love."

"You just don't know," she said with a sigh. Ororo allowed the first tear to slide down her cheek. She'd never allowed herself to properly grieve their deaths. Oh, she cried for months after they died, but she cried because of her own anger, her own pain. She hadn't truly cried for them.

"That's right, dear. Just let it all out. It's okay to cry. We don't do enough of it if you ask me. But remember death is not the end," the woman whispered in her ear.

Ororo talked with the woman a while and found her story amazing. She married her husband during the Great Depression, and she told Ororo they were happy, even though they had nothing. She lost her husband after World War II when some street thugs robbed him, leaving him for dead when he had nothing to offer them. She raised her three children alone, never remarried, and visited her husband's grave with a dedication that touched Ororo to her very core.

"Love," the woman started, "love is the glue that keeps us together, that will heal all wounds."

Those were the woman's parting words to her. Ororo hadn't allowed herself to love anyone in a long time. Anger had always been her fuel, not love. Anger would see her through this, not love. She pushed thoughts of love and anger aside. She had an important meeting to attend.

She found herself in one of Sebastian's meeting room with some of his other "workers" talking tactics. A team mission was being coordinated between herself and some of the others.

Her first team mission had been so many years ago. Shinobi had successfully managed to make somebody angry—not that that surprised anyone. Shinobi pissed off many people, the spoiled brat. What did surprise them, though, was that somebody actually took the time and effort to kidnap Shinobi, selling him to some mutant slave-trading overlord in Thailand.

Ororo had always had the feeling that Sebastian was only partial to Shinobi, but he did make a huge effort to get him back. Ororo believed it was because it was an insult on his power rather than because he really cared that someone had kidnapped Shinobi. She still remembered him pacing and saying, "Nobody challenges Sebastian Shaw."

Greg had been reluctant to let her in on the mission. Even though the Aiden assassination was a far memory by then, he still worried for her. She remembered him pulling her aside after the meeting. "You're the only woman going on the inside. You are not obligated to do this, Ororo. I'm not discrediting you in any way. I know that you are a capable woman, but if you don't want to go, I'll understand."

"No, I can do this," she'd told him. "I was taught by the best, after all."

"Very well," a hint of pride showed in his voice. "I respect a woman who isn't afraid to do something of this caliber. I'm not going to send you in there with any illusions, Ororo. I'm sure you already know this, but I want us to be clear. They'll see you as easy prey. Keep your wits about you."

So, she found herself in the Thailand, a thousand miles from home, trying to help save Shinobi. When they found him, he actually had the audacity to ask what took them so long. She hoped the next person that decided to kidnap him dropped him in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, preferably with cement on his feet. Even now, she still felt that way.

She'd moved up from being part of team missions to prepping others from them. She often sat at Greg's right hand, offering her own pearls of wisdom for Sebastian's other assassins, acting as a strategy coordinator. She liked the sound of that—strategy coordinator of the assassins.

A group effort was needed for this mission. They were going to infiltrate some large cooperation in Brazil that made something called "rojo" because of its red color, or at least, that was the short name for it. It was some kind of synthetic formula being manufactured in the lab there. They had high expectations that it would be a key element in many new drugs, among other things.

Why Sebastian wanted the drug was unknown to her. Personal reasons, she guessed. He did that from time to time when he was in one of his capricious moods. He had them steal things that didn't seem to have much merit as far as his greedy agenda was concerned, but she didn't think the same could be said for this particular mission.

They were only meeting with two members of the team at the moment—the two that Sebastian had put in charge, Lupa and Manuel. Both young, they hadn't been there nearly as long as she had. She believed that this was their first coordinated operation. At least, for Lupa, it was. Manuel had been on plenty of team missions.

Ororo wondered what Sebastian had been thinking putting Lupa in charge of a team mission when she hadn't even been on a team mission. Ororo worried that the rest of the team might not work well with her. Lupa had a reputation of trying to be domineering. The last thing anyone wanted was a whole mission botched because Lupa didn't know how to handle power responsibly.

Ororo had declined the leadership role in this mission. She didn't want them to become too comfortable with the idea of her as a leader. She was overdue for her chat with Sebastian about leaving, and she didn't want him getting any smart ideas.

"Trying to take them all out at one time is ambitious, Lupa." Ororo said to the younger woman sitting across from her "He doesn't expect _you_ to go in like a one-woman wrecking crew, Lupa."

"That's why Sebastian is sending in a team." Lupa said dryly.

"No, he's sending a team because he wants this done as efficiently as possible, not as foolishly as possible." Ororo said, earning herself a nasty look from Lupa, but she didn't let that discourage her. "Think about how much attention that would attract if you went into a big lab trying to kill everyone to satisfy your own bloodlust. Think practically, Lupa."

Lupa's look of contempt only deepened, but Ororo shrugged it off as insignificant. Vashati Zinou, codenamed Lupa, was the closet thing to a werewolf that Ororo had ever seen. She looked like she walked straight off the set of some bad horror movie. She wasn't completely covered in fur, only her arms were significantly furry, and she never could resist flashing a hint of fang.

She had control over higher-order mammalian animals, and she heard a rumor that Lupa traveled with a pack of "dire wolves." Ororo decided that she would probably be pretty, if she weren't always scowling at her. She wondered if she took lessons from Emma, the queen of the scowls. This was how things always were between them, malicious fraught with bitterness. She did know for a fact that Lupa considered herself the better assassin, but she didn't know where that feeling stemmed from.

Perhaps it came from being the only two female assassins that Sebastian employed. Perhaps it was something more. Ororo had a feeling that Lupa had a thing for Victor and saw her as an obstacle between him and her. Personally, Ororo didn't have anything against her, but she was never the one to follow the old adage "kill 'em with kindness."

"What's so foolish about it? If you go ahead and eliminate them all, that reduces the threat of them looking for you because they will all be dead. If you pick them off one by one, eventually, they're going to find you and kill you."

Ororo laughed. "We're talking about a billion dollar lab, not some house of assassins. Yes, I'm sure that brute force will be necessary, but killing everyone. That's just ridiculous and highly improbable. You'll only get yourself killed in the process."

"I'd much rather hear what Greg has to say about this since he's far more experienced."

"Actually, I have to agree with Ororo. I know you've been watching them, right?" Greg said. Manuel nodded, producing papers from a folder. Manuel began to give them meticulous details about the every day lives of the people who worked at the lab.

Manuel de la Roche did most of the surveillance when it came to a team mission. He prided himself on his stalking skills, which were actually somewhat creepy in Ororo's opinion. He had a tendency to connect to his targets, living his life out vicariously through them. Ororo knew he envied what his targets had, wished he could be part of it. Greg warned him that forming personal attachments to his target would be his downfall.

Because of his incessant need to feel something he didn't have, he often used his powers, the ability to control the emotions of those around him, for no good most of the time. There were always a gaggle of beautiful women following him who seemed to think that they were "in love." He couldn't be happy with that. How much did any of it really matter, if he had to use his powers to keep up the charade?

"I have a question." Manuel said, looking more serious than Ororo had ever seen him look. "What _is_ rojo?"

Ororo looked at Greg, and his look mirrored her own. This one was really going to go well, especially since Manuel didn't even know what he was looking for. Ororo rubbed her temples. What was Sebastian thinking? They'd have to send the team to the library archives to find out about the thing before they let them loose on the mission.

"It's a formula." Ororo said, explaining to them the advances that science hope they could make with it. "Rojo is just what it's called because it's red in color."

"So, I'm risking my life for some goddamn medicine?" Manuel asked.

"You've risked your life for far less, Manny." Lupa said sarcastically.

"And as far as Sebastian is concerned, that _medicine_ is worth more than your life tenfold." Greg said, smirking a little.

"What's so important about it, anyway?" Manuel asked, after he rolled his eyes at Greg.

"I don't know, but I know that Sebastian really wants it." Greg answered with a shrug. That much was very true, not just from the setup of a mission, but the way he'd been acting earlier. While he was talking about it, he seemed agitated as if the world would end if they didn't acquire this formula.

Sebastian had been acted really odd lately. Well, not odd as much as preoccupied. Ororo knew he was busy with work, but he just seemed a little more preoccupied than usual. Maybe, he'd always been that distracted, and she just never noticed. She didn't think so. He didn't even yell at his staff as much as he usually did.

Meetings where Lupa was present never went well with her, but at least, Lupa waited until after the meeting to act like a complete bitch. There was some exchange of words. Lupa accused her of being "incompetent" of all things because of what happened with Cameron. "If you don't watch out, you may find yourself replaced." Then, she made sure to exert her authority as one of the leaders of the mission.

Lupa turned on her heel, marching out of the office. Ororo clenched her fists starting after her, but Manuel blocked her path. "If you don't… oh…" Ororo trailed off in mid-sentence. She felt different all of the sudden. Chasing Lupa was the furthest thing from her mind. All she could think about was Manuel. And was it her imagination or did Manuel get handsomer in the last five minutes?

No, these feelings weren't real. Manuel was making her feel this way about him. She closed her eyes and shook her head, exerting some level of authority over her emotions. She opened her eyes again and glared at Manuel.

"Manny, are you fucking with my emotions?" she asked brusquely, furrowing her eyebrows at him. The lopsided grin he gave her confirmed that he was. "How many times have I told you not to do that?"

"Hey, I was just trying to keep you from killing Lupa," he said with a shrug.

"By making me think that you're the most desirable man on earth?" she asked. "Couldn't you have just calmed my nerves or something?"

"Whatever works, right?"

"Do that again, and I'm going to hurt you."

"You said that last time."

"Fine! Do that again, and I'll get _Victor_ to hurt you."

"Now that's just cruel and unusual."

"Whatever works, right?" Ororo said, mimicking his earlier words.

When Ororo arrived at home, she immediately started dressing for her night out with Jean. Jean was going to kill her, if she was late. The meeting lasted longer than she thought. She thought she had a good chance of being on time, even if she was pressed for time, but things never went as planned. Victor showed up while she was putting the finishing touches on her hair. What else could turn her day upside down? She wondered silently.

"Where ya going?" he demanded.

"Not now, Vic. You know I'm meeting my friend for dinner." Ororo said, looking at herself in the bathroom mirror.

"Don't go."

"I have to go or my best friend might disown me."

"So."

"So? So!" she started, but stopped. How was she supposed to explain something like loyalty and friendship to Victor? The only reason he showed any loyalty to Sebastian was because he was the only person willing to meet his ridiculous fee for his "talents." She didn't know if she could consider him loyal to her; that was something she preferred not to think about. "I'm going. End of discussion."

She tried to ignore his fingertips running over her bare arms and the way they made skin tingle. She tried to ignore the look in his eyes when he hooked the thin strap of her dress over one claw. Before she could utter a warning, he snapped the strap of her dress with ease. "Oops, looks like you're goin' to be late," he said.

"Victor!" she shouted. She turned to him, mustering up her best glare. "Is sex all you think about?"

She always asked him that jokingly, if sex was the only thing he thought about, but at that moment, she meant it. What did she expect him to say to her? She'd never went into that relationship—relationship being a very loose word in their case—expect to turn him into some kind of merry homemaker. She was smart enough to know that Victor's brain worked on three modes—eat, kill, and fuck.

Why was she choosing now to express some kind of disdain with the way things were between them? She'd never had a complaint before, and for the most part, she believed that she was quite content with the way things were between them. Yeah, the emotional void was there, but it wasn't something she let eat away from her.

_I_ _should just drop this; there's nothing wrong with the way things are now_, she said to herself. She was going to fuck it all up, if she didn't close her mouth. Then, she'd be back at square one, an empty bed, but she couldn't back down. She started this, and she would see it through… maybe.

"There is more to life than sex," she continued.

"Whaddya mean there's more to life than sex?" Victor asked, staring at her as if she just told him that cows would no longer be slaughtered for his eating enjoyment.

"I mean we can't keep doing this. Don't you want something more substantial in your life than an occasional fuck?" she asked, searching his eyes, trying to make him understand.

"Never really thought about it." He shrugged indifferently. And she had no reason to believe otherwise. Victor was a pretty straightforward guy, and she was sure that he didn't sit down and analyze the relationships he maintained. She knew he would say that was something women did to make themselves miserable instead of enjoying the ride.

"I have, and I don't know if I want to do _this_ anymore, Vic. I don't know if this is right."

"Of course, it's right, babe. Your pussy fits my dick like a glove. If that ain't right, I don't know what is," he said, wrapping his arms around her. He added a slap to her butt to make his point.

"Once again, your finesse with words never ceases to amaze me," she said sarcastically, pushing him away as she back to the mirror. She plucked up her ripped strap between her forefinger and thumb, trying in vain to salvage it.

"What crawled up your ass an' died?"

"I've just been doing some thinking lately. That's all," she said, catching his eyes in the mirror. "Do we really care about each other? If we didn't sleep together, would we still like one another?"

"I'd destroy this world for you," he whispered in her ear, his breath moving up her neck, teasing like a cool breeze. She swallowed hard when his fingers brushed against the nape of her neck, slowly creeping around her throat, a brutish show of possession. "You know you want me to."

Goddess, what was she doing with him? Some games, she reasoned to herself, should never be played, but she didn't protest when he deftly snapped the other strap, the silk ticking her skin as it slid away from her body like water washing over her. He grabbed her arms a little too roughly, turning her to face him again, pushing back her neck. Rough whiskers scraped the smooth skin of her neck, causing a sigh to escape from barely parted lips.

Sometimes, she let herself believe that he might bite her, and maybe she wanted him to.He nipped her bottom lip too hard, following up with a soft swipe of his tongue. Then, his lips crushed hers, bruising, almost paining, and she grabbed his shirt in her hands, knotting the material between her hands. _This is all wrong_, she told herself, but she bunched his shirt up tighter in her hands until she was almost ripping it away from his body. She wouldn't deny him.

Maybe, he was right. Maybe, he wasn't. Did it matter really?

"Well… Jean won't mind if I'm a little late."

———

Jean was pacing in the foyer, ranting to anyone who would listen. "Ororo knows I hate to be late, and doesn't she know how hard it is to get a table at Arpége?" she said to no one in particular. He leaned casually against one of the stairwell banisters. He had convinced himself that he wasn't waiting to see Ororo. Nope, not at all. He was keeping Jean company, so she wouldn't look stupid complaining to an empty room.

When she finally arrived, he saw her shoes first, those stiletto "come fuck me" heels that made your eyes want to travel farther up. Her legs were shapely and long, seeming impossibly long in his eyes. Her legs seem to go on for days leading up to the kind of hips a man could hold on to all night.

She was wearing a little, white number that dipped too low in the front, and when she turned around, he saw it dipped too low in the back, as well. She wore it like a second skin. A split in the dress threatened to expose one powerful thigh, and she didn't seem the least bit concerned that she could cause the second coming in that dress.

She almost made him wished he'd thought to change the threadbare white shirt—one that had seen better days, possibly better years—he'd been wearing while working on his bike. She offered him a Mona Lisa smile, tossing her mane over her shoulder, when she caught him staring. Apparently, she wasn't against a little ego stroking.

Strong perfume threatened to overpower her own earthy smell, making his nose twitch slightly, as she passed by him. Why did women feel the need to put on a gallon of perfume when their own smell was good enough? Beneath it all, he smelled the faint scent of a man. He hadn't thought much about her being with someone, especially not after she kissed him. That wasn't something a woman with another man did, unless she was looking for trouble.

"Where have you been?" Jean asked exasperated.

"Sorry I'm late. Wardrobe malfunction," Ororo said with a slight chuckle.

After a few words of reprimand, Jean excused herself from the foyer to search for her purse. There was light conversation between them. The spoken words didn't matter much. The only thing that mattered was the soundless conversation they carried on. Their bodies said everything their mouths couldn't.

He knew he shouldn't get caught up in her game. Despite what she did or who she did it to, she was still a woman, and she still knew how to appeal to all the right sides of his manhood. She touched him once during the course of their talk, her fingers brushing against his wrist, heating his skin like an unseen stigmata. Then, she leaned into him for no particular reason at all.

Then, there was that brief pause in time when he was sure that she was going to kiss him again. Light musical notes skittered on the air, and the moment was gone. She cleared her throat and put a relative amount of space between them. She pulled a small, black cell phone from her purse, rolling her eyes at it slightly. She held a finger up to him. "I have to take this," she said, moving further away from him.

She flipped open the phone slowly, putting it to her ear. "Hello," she breathed into the phone with the perfect amount of dispassion, indifference with just a hint of bewitchery. The voice that came roaring from the other end didn't sound so bewitched. He wasn't quite able to make out all the words, but the irritation behind the voice was unmistakable.

That must be the other guy. She didn't seem shaken by the yelling. She sighed into the phone. Her own annoyance a silent reaction, as the voice on the other end continued to vary between differing degrees of shouting. Her expression changed from the annoyance to quiet anger, but she didn't raise her voice.

"I'm not…" she whispered, looking around. Her eyes grazed his for a second before she looked away.

He wasn't eavesdropping. Nope, not really. He couldn't help it that he had very good hearing. What was he supposed to do? Interrupt her conversation and tell her that he could hear everything?

"…your wife! Stop treating me like I am," she finished despite the noise from her phone.

There was always the option of just leaving. He stood stock-still in place. An option didn't mean he _had_ to do it. It meant he had the option of doing so if he wanted to. Quite frankly, he was comfortable where he was standing. It didn't have anything to do with her.

"What is your problem tonight? I started this? What? No! There is no other man."

Maybe—just maybe—if he moved a few inches closer he could make sense of what the other person was saying. But he would only do that if he were eavesdropping. Right now, he was just doing what the kids referred to as "ear hustling." That sounded so much better than "eavesdropping," in his opinion.

"I was just voicing— Why do you always wait until _after_ you've slept with me to start the drama? I don't seem to remember you asking all these questions after we… Oh, you _will_ listen to me bitch and moan. You're the one who called me with this bull—"

The expressions on her face teetered between angry and almost passive at times, but she continued to hold that steady, calm voice; almost as if she feared cracking if she raised her voice. What kind of guy would call and start drama over a frigging cell phone? He was a firm believer in talking to a person face to face, if he had a problem.

"No, I won't come back _right now_. I had one father in this life, and his name was not Victor. When I'm done, I'll let you know."

"That's not going to work because you wouldn't do that," she paused, a dramatic gasp coming from her lips. "You'd better not. Don't you dare touch my Amaryllis or so help you goddess…"

Then, she smirked a little, crinkling her eyebrows. All the anger seemed to dissipate from her face, just as quickly as it had formed, like a summer storm. "You'll break my knees the next time I try to leave. Oh, is that so? I'll keep that in mind." She was actually amused by that. He wasn't aware the threat of physical violence was amusing.

Jean came rushing down the stairs, barely giving Ororo time to hang up her cell phone as she pulled Ororo out the door. She did somehow manage to turn to give him a wave before she left.

———

Victor told her that he would break her knees next time she left when he didn't want her, too. Threats from Victor weren't to be taken lightly. She knew that it would suit him fine to break her legs if she pissed him off, but she hadn't taken him seriously. There'd been something joking in his voice, as if he was using his own brand of "humor" to smooth things over.

But she'd been honest with him. There was no other man. Kissing Logan didn't mean there was "another man," right? They weren't together. She kissed him because she felt like it. It hadn't meant a thing. Just like it hadn't meant a thing that she decided to wear that particular dress. Just like it didn't mean anything that she thought she might kiss him, again, right there in the mansion.

She had to give Victor more credit, though. Aside from hot sex, she generally thought of him as rather mindless, incapable of complex thought. No, she didn't think he was incapable of it, but she felt that he much rather operate on the basest of all levels because it was much easier. There wasn't another man, but he sensed _something_ that had something do with another man. That broke the norm of his everyday, habitual thought process.

They always joked about her being with other men, but it had always been just that—a joke. However, when he called her about this "other man," she knew at that moment that he would never tolerate it. Not that she had any intentions of being with another man. She just could handle one. What would she do with two?

This was a very serious turn in their relationship. She had never given much thought to Victor being with other women, and she never thought he'd given much serious thought to being with other men. They both agreed that they had fun. This wasn't anything they were pursuing seriously. At least, that was the impression that she was under. So, what was with this sudden covetousness, the sudden demand to know where she was?

She might've been flattered, if she wanted something more with him, if she really was trying to make him jealous. This was just another reminder that she never knew what was going on in his head. Maybe, she should take a break from him, from men in general. Men were lunatics, anyway, and they couldn't blame it on PMS like women could.

She wouldn't think about it, anymore. It wasn't fair to think about Victor when she was trying to have a decent meal with Jean.

Dinner with Jean was always something she enjoyed; it gave her some semblance of normalcy, however false that was. It allowed her to pretend that she was just a working woman, a woman who found a little time for her friend because of her busy work schedule. With Jean, she talked about things that seemed so trivial when she tried to discuss them with people who knew what she did.

She was allowed to be lighthearted with Jean. Life was simple with Jean. Except, sometimes, Jean was a little too inquisitive. Did she blame Jean? No, she didn't. In fact, she found it amazing that Jean never mentioned how weird it was that she didn't speak much about her life. They were always talking about things at the mansion or something totally unrelated to their lives.

Perhaps, Jean had noticed. Jean was more perceptive than she let on, but she never called Ororo out. It was incredible that she managed to stay such good friends with Jean despite the widening divide between them. She felt that Jean knew her better than most people, even if there was a black area of her life that she felt she couldn't share with Jean.

But Jean's perceptiveness reared its head while they were dining. They were making small talk while they perused the menu. "What company do you work for, Ororo?" Jean asked, changing the subject abruptly.

She hadn't expected her question, but she didn't let it rattle her, not physically, anyway. She worked hard at portraying the perfect picture of emotionless. Sure, it had been part of her training, but it wasn't where the practice originated. She learned a long time ago how to keep her emotions in check due to a mutation that could easily mirror any instability of her emotions, if she didn't control it, which could translate into a very bad thing for everyone.

"I work for Shaw Enterprises." Ororo said, nonchalantly, never missing a beat. She tried to make it sound as non-threatening as possible. She knew that Jean would ask this question, eventually, and she'd been practicing for ten years to get the insouciance down perfectly.

She thought it was a funny question for Jean to suddenly ask, and she wondered if Logan had spoken to Jean about what he knew. She dismissed that thought, though. If he had told Jean, she would've known. Jean would've talked to her about it… or rather lectured her, a habit that she picked up from Scott.

"You mean Shaw as in Sebastian Shaw." Jean said, lowering her voice, as if she were speaking about some unmentionable subject.

She knew that the X-Men had their fair share of run-ins with Sebastian and the rest of the Hellfire Club, but this ill sentiment toward Sebastian wasn't limited to the X-Men or even mutants. He'd gained notoriety in every aspect of his life, and everyone seemed to have a reason to hate him. She didn't deny that it was deserved, though.

"Yes, that would be him," she said. Jean was staring at her disapprovingly. "What did I just grow a third eye?" That was meant to be a joke, but Jean didn't laugh.

"How can you work for someone like Sebastian Shaw?" Jean asked.

"Just like thousands of other people work for him. I get up in the morning, I shower, I dress, I go to work, and then I go home." Ororo said calmly. She knew where this conversation was about to go, and she was trying to avoid that route.

"Ororo, don't you know about the things he does?" she asked.

"I am aware of the allegations that many people have brought against him."

"Allegations?" Jean said, sounding almost outraged. "He would sell his own flesh and blood to get what he wants."

"Everyone has something he or she secretly coveted, something he or she would do anything to obtain, even if they had to sell their own flesh and blood." Ororo said softly. People didn't like to admit things like that. It was like admitting that you are capable of hating. People don't like to deal with hate. They much rather it fade into the shadows so they can go on living the doldrums of their everyday life.

"You don't honestly believe that."

Ororo couldn't say what she honestly believed that. She'd seen many people who were willing to do anything to achieve some goal, herself included. She can't say that she'd obtained her ultimate goal in life, and she probably never would. She could say that she knew what it was like to want something so badly that you'd do whatever you had to do. Whether that had someone to do with one's own selfishness, one's own weakness, or both, she wasn't sure about.

"Let's not spoil dinner by talking about work." Ororo said, looking down at her menu. That wasn't a conversation that she wanted to have with Jean. She wouldn't say she outright lied to Jean, but she picked the information that she fed Jean carefully. She could feel Jean's disapproving stare, a silent reproach. "Look, I'm getting some time off soon. Maybe we can take that vacation we talked about."

She wanted to ask Jean if things were any better with Scott, but she didn't want to give Jean anything else to be bitter about. If Jean wanted her to know what was going on, she would tell her. Rocky relationships were a fragile thing to discuss in her opinion, and she didn't want Jean to feel like she was prying. Besides, Jean's face had actually brightened, and she wanted to keep her in a good mood.

They managed to get through dinner without the subject of Sebastian Shaw coming up again, a welcome relief on Ororo's part. After dinner, Jean linked arms with hers as they walked out of the restaurant. "There's somewhere I want to take you, a club that I just happened to find," she said

Twenty minutes later Ororo found herself taking a familiar beaten path, and she hoped silently that they weren't going where she thought they were going. "There it is." Jean said, her eyes gleaming a bit. The _Kurogaisha_. The club was too exclusive, too sordid, for Jean to happen to "wander" upon it.

"I've heard about this place and the things that go inside of there. This isn't the type of place that you just happen to know about." Ororo said, evenly, making sure not to betray that she knew the place intimately.

"An old friend mentioned it. He said something about it being very private, but that I wouldn't regret checking it out."

"Trust me when I say this. You wouldn't want to waste your time on this place."

"And how would you know?" Jean asked. The question didn't hold any hint of anger. It was just curious, and Ororo had a bad feeling that she was being duped by her best friend, that maybe Jean knew more than she was saying.

"I…" Ororo trailed, not knowing how to answer that question exactly. She could say that she'd been to the club before, but then Jean would want to know why she didn't say that in the beginning. And if it wasn't the kind of place that was on the up and up, why had Ororo visited to begin with?

"That guy is staring at you." Jean said, pointing behind Ororo. Ororo turned and saw one of the bouncers, Bruce, looking her way. He started waving, and she sent an awkward smile his way before turning back to Jean. "Do you know him?"

"It must be some mistake."

"Must be." Jean said, not sounding too convinced.

"Let's just go. I have to work in the morning, anyway." Ororo said, hoping Jean hadn't paid too much attention. Jean didn't argue with her much with the suggestion, as Ororo had expected her to, further convincing her that there was something more to this trip. Jean didn't mention anything more, so Ororo didn't mention anything.

Disaster avoided… for now…

———

**Author's Notes:** Excuse any mistakes. I was really tired when I looked over this. Sorry it took so long to update. Both of our computers decided to die at the same time, and then I had some things in my personal life to attend to. The significant other and I built a computer together, so we could dictate how it performed, and well… my personal life will never be sorted out.

This chapter changed from its original format a bit, which is why it isn't titled as I said it would be last chapter. Many things changed in this fic while I had some down time to think about it causing an outline rewrite. Good news, though. The next chapter is done. I'll post it in a day or two when I've had the chance to look over it. And thanks everyone for your reviews and hanging in there. LOL.

Special thanks to my buddy, Nick, for his pearls of "wisdom." ;) How would I have ever made it through this chapter without you?

I made up a name for Lupa, since I don't remember her having one besides Lupa in the comics. Manuel de la Roche is the mutant known as Empath. Name of the restaurant mentioned borrowed from one of the restaurants on the "most expensive" list in Forbes. What? I like Forbes magazine.

Chapter title comes from "Man-size Sextet."

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**_Next Chapter: Entr'acte: Three Can Keep A Secret_**


	6. Entr'acte: Three Can Keep A Secret

_**Entr'acte: Three Can Keep a Secret**_

Sebastian sat back in his chair looking at the two men in front of him. They'd been discussing part of the terms of this project they wanted him to undertake with them. Before they could proceed with anything, there was the small matter of getting hands on certain documents. He had access to important documents that the man needed to complete the project.

He didn't want anyone to go into the man's house to steal the documents. He was adamant about this, stating that it would be obvious once the the project was made public. It wouldn't be good for his former colleague to jeopardize what they hoped to accomplish with the "God's Hand" project. He only wanted Sebastian to send in an assassin to get the man out of the way.

The man said he originally started the project with two other men. When they started testing their findings, the man's other colleagues said the experiment was unethical, too dangerous. They said they couldn't play God with the lives of others. The man disagreed, but he split ways with his colleagues, each taking what they contributed to the experiment as a parting gift.

The man tried to reproduce their findings, but without his colleagues' documents, it proved useless. Not too long ago, one of his colleagues met with an "unfortunate accident," and the man found himself the heir of his colleague's documents. Now, there was only one piece of the puzzle left, and the man wanted his former colleague out of the way completely.

It made Sebastian think of an old Benjamin Franklin quote he'd read eons ago in business school. _Three could keep a secret, if two were dead._ He thought Franklin had been a smart man, and had used the advice of ol' Ben time and time again—in the literal sense. Apparently, he wasn't alone in practicing this philosophy.

The man had acquired a new colleague, a young, dark-haired man who Sebastian had tried to hire for his company years ago. He hadn't been too successful, despite certain persuasion tactics. There was always a crusader in the bunch, the one who believed he would gain a sense of achievement through his accomplishments rather than by earning seven figures.

It seemed rather ridiculous for the man to part with his former colleagues, and then recruit another. Didn't he fear that what happened before would happen again? But the man said his new partner had potential. Sebastian couldn't dispute that fact. It was that potential that made him think of him as the one that got away. The things he could've done for Sebastian's company, but that was a regret best left for another time.

The man told him that they would go in and procure the needed documents and clean up any unfortunate mess that may happen. Sebastian found this odd that they were willing to go in as a clean-up crew, just to get some documents—no matter how important they were. You were never supposed to put your hand in the cookie jar; you let others do it for you.

The man explained that his colleague had associates who might interfere. He had reason to believe his former colleague was working on his own version of "God's Hand." A million conflicting questions ran through Sebastian's mind. He didn't believe the man wanted his colleague dead because he might interfere. No, this was personal, and he was smart enough not to do it himself.

He wanted Ororo to do the job, specifically Ororo, even though Sebastian thought Victor was better suited for it. The two men didn't seem to agree. "Sabretooth has far more experience than Storm does." Sebastian said, drawing his fingers into a steeple. He ruled out naming any of his other assassins for the job because those two were the best of the best, and they wanted the best. However, he just didn't know if Ororo was the one for the job.

"You think he's going to let someone like Sabretooth get anywhere near him, if it comes to that. No, it has to be Storm. We would prefer that she not be detected, but if it can't be help, she'd still have a better chance of getting close to the target because she is a woman. Besides, she doesn't make the mess that Sabretooth does."

Sebastian thought about that for a moment. It was true. Ororo was able to get in closer to a target, leaving little evidence she was ever there. Victor liked to do things the messy way. Blood, guts, severed limbs, those were the kind of things that Victor usually left behind, but he was capable of leaving a scene _less_ messy on orders. _Sometimes_.

"We need this to go off without a hitch. We don't need it to be apparent that he was murdered. We want them to believe that he was kidnapped or maybe he ran off with one of his whores. We want them to chase a useless lead. By the time they realized what's happened, they'll be too far off the path," the younger man said.

"But if you're going to go in and dispose of the evidence, anyway, why does it matter?" Sebastian asked.

"When a scene is particularly messy, it's a lot harder to be sure that you've covered all your bases. Besides, given the miracles of modern technology, even if we did succeed in making the room appear spotless, there are still methods of detecting blood. Surely, you've heard of luminol, a chemical that reacts with the hydrogen peroxide in blood, even if it's been _cleaned_."

"Of course, I have." Sebastian said indignantly. He wasn't an idiot, and he didn't care to be made out as one. "However, I am aware of the drawbacks of luminol, as well. Doesn't it detect copper, some bleaches, and horseradish?"

The younger man said. "A man who's done his homework, impressive. Do you really think they'll give a goddamn if it's blood or if it's copper or horseradish? They'll get a positive reaction. They'll instantly think murder with or without testing it. Better safe than sorry."

"We need a bloodless kill. We need it to be quick and calculative _without_ incident. Storm can deliver that. She can get in and get out with less show than Victor could. After she's done, we go in and take care of the rest." The younger man said.

"Let me think about this."

"What is there to think about? You don't want this?" A verbal challenge seasoned with charming smile, faux-coyness hidden behind a viper's smile. Who did he think he was fooling?

But he did _want_ it, and the man across from him knew it.

———

**Author's Notes:** Sorry, it took so long to update _again_. Work drama kept me busy, too busy. I'm talking about serious Tempest was going to have to Tae Bo somebody's ass. Then, I rewrote this chapter. And guess what I still don't like it. Yay! So, sorry if it's still a little disjointed because I keep changing things. I'm smoothing it out. The good stuff doesn't start happening til chapter ten, anyway. ;) I forgot to add in the last chapter that "Man Size Sextet" is by PJ Harvey. Yes, I listen to a lot of angry girl rock. I don't know what to do with myself.

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**Next chapter:** "_In the fields a dying oath, I'd kill them all to save my own…"_


	7. Chapter Five

_**Chapter Five  
"In the fields a dying oath. I'd kill them all to save my own..."**_

Monday mornings were never truly positive; they just reminded Ororo of the long week she had ahead of her

When she entered Sebastian's office, she was only mildly surprised to find Tobias there. He stood at Sebastian's desk, tall and willowy, his sallow skin somehow managing to appear even more washed out in the day's sunlight. Tobias Reinhold always sent chills of alarm down her spine. He had the smile of the leech and the over courteous manners of an insurance salesman, believing he hid his smarminess behind his smile. What he did for Sebastian, she didn't know—nor did she care to know—as long as it didn't concern her.

The hushed conversation between Sebastian and Tobias ceased when she entered the room, not that she expected them to continue their conversation in her presence. Sebastian's business was private, even to those who were privy to such information. That didn't bother her. What _did_ bother her was the way both of them were smiling at her like two vipers circling their kill. She didn't trust Tobias and she didn't trust Sebastian, so she might as well been stepping into a snake's den.

She didn't break her stride, though, as she entered the room. She wouldn't let them see she was slightly bothered by their lecherous stares. She stopped just a few feet short of Tobias, wanting to keep her distance from him as much as possible. He smiled his tight, deceitful smile at her. "Ororo, looking lovely as always," he said, nodding his head in her direction.

"Mr. Reinhold, a pleasure to see you again," she said, though she knew there wasn't an ounce of sincerity in her expression or her voice. He didn't seem to mind as his serpent's smile widened in her direction. Her nerve endings tingled, as if waiting for some decisive strike. She always got that feeling when she was around him, as if she were waiting for him to make some threatening action toward her.

She gripped the papers she was holding tightly in her hands, as his eyes swept over her. He turned back to Sebastian suddenly, his voice low and conspiratorial. _Boys only_, it said."We will continue this conversation at another time," Tobias said to the other man.

"We will," he said with a firm nod. Ororo saw their eyes connect for a moment in unspoken _tête-à-tête_. Let the boys play their games, she decided, as long as they didn't fuck with her. They said their hurried goodbyes, and Ororo made sure to make a wide path between her and Tobias.

The last time she'd saw him, he kissed her hand, and she would've swore he lips left behind some filthy, poisonous residue that taken her a week to get off. She hadn't seen it, but she would've sworn she felt it. Or maybe it was just her disgust with him getting the best of her.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow her way once Tobias left the office. "You wanted to speak to me." A statement, never a question.

"Yes," she said, taking a seat. She tossed the papers on his desk.

He picked them up, looking them over with mild interest. "Surely not about acquisition reports." Another statement punctuated with a sarcastic smile. He placed the papers back on the desk without another glance.

"No, I'm here to talk to you about my time with the company, remember?" she said squarely. She didn't have time to beat around the bush or play whatever head games he had in mind. This wasn't something new to him. She'd made him aware of her intentions before now.

"Ahh," he said, sitting down in his plush chair, steepling his fingers together, "yes. Do sit down." A command, but she took a seat in front of him. She'd done a lot of thinking about this moment and what she would say to him. No scenario played right in her head. "Before we begin, do have a cup of tea."

She paused, a little thrown by his offer. She wasn't used to him offering her anything, even if it did come off as a command more than an offer. Usually, Tessa played the part of the willing servant, tending to all needs. She watched him walk to his in-office bar. He poured one cup before turning to look at her with a questioning eyebrow.

"Why not?" she said.

- - -

Manipulating mutant DNA had never been a goal of his, and truth be told he felt like a traitor, a yellow-bellied coward, every time he picked apart the DNA of another mutant in the name of "science."

He couldn't say he agreed with his employer's ethics, but the way provided a means to the end. "Nothing is static. Everything is evolving," was the motto he always heard from his employer. He agreed with that to a certain extent.

When he was younger, he mapped his adult life out from beginning to end, with the meticulous calculation that his friends joked only he possessed. True, he'd been a calculative teen who'd grown into a an even more calculative man, but his mutation hadn't made him introverted or any less willing to lead a normal life that didn't involve a lab.

He'd planned to have the good job, the beautiful wife, and the two kids. He did not, however, plan to find himself in some power hungry asshole's lab, ripping apart another mutant's DNA, but life hadn't exactly seen things the same way as he had. Years ago, he did have the beautiful wife and the two beautiful kids.

He didn't have the job, though, and when he finally did get the job, he didn't have the wife or the family.

- - -

**Tuesday.** _Sweet goddess_ was all she could think as she forced her eyes opened. She sat up slowly in her bed; the silk of her sheets seemed to scrape against her skin like nails. She grabbed the sides of her head when everything started spinning, taking slow, controlled breaths. Her parched throat screamed for water.

She reached for the glass of water she kept at her bedside, putting it to her chapped lips hastily, noting the sour taste of the water against her taste buds, but she didn't stop drinking, even as the water spilled from the sides of her mouth.

She turned slowly in her, putting one foot on the floor. The floor seemed to move up and down like a carousel, as she placed the other foot on the floor gingerly. She stood up, pushing her body from the bed inch by inch, but still found herself a crumpled heap on the floor for her efforts. She would believe she had a hangover _if_ she had been drinking all night.

A couple of hours after her meeting with Sebastian, she'd sat her desk listening to her stomach churn in tumult. She'd gone home early, thinking she'd caught some stomach virus that was floating around. She'd never been much of a believer in medicine, but she found herself searching her medicine cabinets when she arrived home and finding no relief.

For hours, she lay in her bed painfully aware of every sense she possessed, as if she'd taken some drug that left her hypersensitive to everything. She was thankful when sleep finally overtook her, but even in her sleep, she'd felt the prickling of her skin, heard the thudding of her heart, smelled her perfume drifting on the air. And her dreams—goddess, her dreams!—had been a muddle of mass confusion that made her feel as if she truly wasn't sleep.

Ororo pulled herself from the floor, steadying herself gradually. She dressed for work, pulling herself together as best as she could.

- - -

It was hard enough trying to find a job while hanging on to his integrity and hiding the fact that he was a mutant. Forget that many of his professors called him brilliant; companies weren't interested in brilliant. They wanted something that would bring in money.

Didn't matter how it they got it whether it was by employing a gimmick or hiring some rich bastard's brain dead heir. He didn't fall into either category. He wasn't into gimmicks, preferring the trial and error of beneficial research to throwing something together that would sell for a few months before public appeal cooled. And he didn't come from a rich family by a long shot. Two strikes.

So, they got by on the little two bit jobs he did here and there, living from paycheck to paycheck. Ororo worked a seedy, little diner not far from their apartment, if you could even call it an apartment. It was more like a paper box that Ororo did her best to make cozy, but she didn't leave, didn't throw the promises he'd made back into his face.

She stuck by him, and he'd been determined to make their life better—somehow, someway. Pressure like that was enough to break any man down. That was his life, and it was ending one minute at a time. It almost made him want to give up; let fate decide the outcome. He'd never been a quitter, though, and he stopped believing in fate a long time ago. He fought too hard, and he knew that he would have to fight harder to provide for his family.

She was always behind him 100 percent. He remembered how she would hover around him when she thought he was working too much. He would tell her he was busy; he would try to make her go away. _Science stuff_, he would say, and she would never listen. "Think of me scientifically," she often joked, her eyes the deepest color of the winter sky.

He remembered how she would find him wherever he was working in the apartment dressed in nothing but one of his button-down dress shirt, and she would always play that song by Ray Charles, "_Night Time Is the Right Time_." Mathematical equations just didn't hold the same appeal as his young wife slowly stripping to the lazy, bluesy beats of the song.

She would always sing one particular verse to him. "Baby, baby, baby. Oh baby. Do I love you? No one above you. Hold me tight. And make everything all right. Because the night time, oh, is the right time to be with the one you love, now," he could hear her crooning in his head.

She'd park herself right in his lap. It didn't matter if he had notes there or not. She'd look into his eyes with nothing but sincerity. "Tease me. Squeeze me. Leave me. Ah, don't leave me. Lawdy, baby, take my hand, now. I don't need no other man. Because the night time, oh, is the right time to be with the one you love, now."

How as he supposed to resist that? They were so young, then; _she_ was so young. God, that was such a long time ago.

- - -

Wednesday proved to be no better than Tuesday. She didn't wake up feeling drunk after a night of non-drinking, but she did have experience another first of a different kind.

She'd been at her desk, staring at her computer screen blankly, her mind seemed to be concentrating on a million different things at once. Outside, she'd heard the squeal of tires, followed by the sickening sound of metal crushing against metal. Running from her desk, she'd gone to the nearest window, looking out.

She observed a bedlam of cars and bodies, not caused by an accident but by others. Her chest tightened at the sound of screams rising like flames from the floors below her, the sound of forcible entry playing loudly in her ears. Her stomach dropped and she dropped to the floor, as the windows seemed to implode in a fury of glass and metal.

She cut her hand on a piece of glass, trying to scramble to the safety of her desk, when she'd felt a hand wrap in her hair. "Where ya goin', bitch?" she heard someone say, and then, she floating through the air, not of her own volition. She screamed when she realized she was out the window, and she couldn't summon up enough power to call the winds to her aid.

She screamed, jolting upright in her chair. She was still at her desk. There were no imploding windows or mass mayhem. Everything around her stood still, as the people who'd been minding their business until she screamed out stared at her in concern. How thoughtless of her. "Sorry," she muttered. A daymare. She'd just had her first one.

- - -

He'd gotten so close to something, so very close. He started spending his every waking moment working on it. He knew he worked too hard, neglected her, neglected the kids, worked long hours, didn't sleep enough, but what he created would've changed their lives. When he revealed a prototype of his invention, he was suddenly the most coveted man in the city.

He was feeding off the greed of different companies. Who wanted it more? Who was willing to pay the price? But that was the thing about greed. It made men dangerous, especially if they saw their prospects fading. In the end, he ended up running because he believed it would save his family.

- - -

**Thursday.** "24," she said to herself, looking at the clock on her nightstand. She'd been up twenty-four hours, and sleep still hadn't graced her with its presence and did not intend to. Her eyes burned from not sleeping, but nothing brought her relief, not even sleep aids.

Wednesday ended with more waking nightmares. She felt like she was walking in and out of a dreamland. One minute everything was completely normal; the next everything was going to hell.

She moved a large arm from her midsection. She hadn't wanted to be alone the night before. The week was starting to take its toll on her, and Victor hadn't missed the opportunity to tell her that she looked like shit. She told him in no uncertain terms that she wasn't in the mood for brand of honesty, deserved or not.

She quickly answered her phone when it rang, not that it would actually wake Victor. It was Jean, and she sounded perky and ready for the world, as usual. Ororo felt darkness bubble in her chest at the thought, and she just felt like telling Jean that the world wasn't all roses and fucking puppy dogs. She didn't know where that random hate came from. Jean wanted to meet for lunch.

"I think it would be in your best interest to stay away," Ororo said before hanging up the phone.

- - -

He owed his benefactor a debt of gratitude. He saved his life, and he couldn't think of a better reason to be indebted to someone. He made some stupid decisions, the stupidest was believing that someone would accept him mutation at all. He landed a "dream job," made plans to send for his family. They would be safe now. Too bad dreams were just that.

The man who employed him before his current boss "loved" him, and he had a rapt fascination with his mutant DNA. He didn't talk much about that period in his life, not that he had anyone to talk to about it, but he thought about it everyday.

He remembered how the former lab he worked at lay in ruins, and the bodies of countless mutants littered the floor. In their haste to get away, they left behind a mess. Equipment was smashed, and throats were slashed. They tried to burn the lab, as well, but help arrived before that. He remembered the parting words of his former employer.

"You were always my favorite," the deep voice still rumbled in his head.

He knew that voice, but he hadn't been able to focus at the time. A heavy hand stroked his head tenderly. He tried to pull away, but he could barely move. His head lolled backward in his drug-induced haze. His vision had blurred more as he tried to focus on the ceiling. He remembered feeling disoriented, unable to recall the last time he'd felt normal.

"Sir, we don't have much time. They are coming!" a female voice had cried over the dull pounding in his ears. The bitter smell of death—life taken prematurely—hung heavily in the air. The smell had entered his lungs, choking him of life. He'd embraced it. During that brief time in hell, he had longed for death many days, anything that would release him from that prison.

"This will be over soon…"

He could still smell the acrid stench of chemicals burning filled his nostrils, and something cool had touched the base of his throat. He didn't know what was happening at the time, but he'd cried anyway. After that, everything was blank, he only remembered waking up somewhere he thought he belonged. He swallowed hard. He wouldn't think about any of that.

- - -

"Thank God, it's Saturday," she heard someone, a man, say behind her.

"It's thank God, it's Friday, asshole," someone else said in response.

"Who gives a shit? Do you give a shit? I don't give a shit. Thank God, it's the fuckin' weekend!" the man responded.

She never thought of herself as much of a drinker, but as she sat at her table downing drink after drink, she wondered if perhaps she had some kind of predisposition to alcoholism. _No matter_, she said to herself, as she ordered another drink. After her meeting with Sebastian, the rest of her week was… weird. So the drinking with Victor was justified… almost…

_Inebriation was liberation_, she remembered Shinobi telling her once a long time ago when she was young and stupid. Even now, she could remember the sweet smell of his silk sheets, how he'd poured champagne all over her body, while she muttered, "I can't believe I'm letting you do this to me." _Ugh, the jerk_, she said to herself. If she was prone to alcoholism, it was his fault, and that was that.

She felt her head spin a little, and she pressed her fingers to her temple. A fleeting thought crossed her mind, asking her what the hell she was doing. "I'm going crazy!" she said aloud, slamming her glass against the table. She thought she might be losing her mind. Things just didn't feel right. And yesterday…Goddess, yesterday, she thought she glanced a man who looked like…

No, her mind betrayed her in her desperation, making her believe she'd seen him, reminding her of all his lies. "_They don't love you like I love you…"_ Son-of-a-bitch, told her what she wanted to hear and… She pulled in a calming breath. She should've followed the men she saw the day before, should've found out if it was really him. What if that had been her only chance? Did this prove she really didn't want revenge, that she was still weak?

She swallowed hard, remembering the day before. At five, she prepared to go home as she always did, but Sebastian came out of his office, said he needed to talk to her about "business" before she left. She needed to talk to him about "business," too. He asked her to walk with him while they talked, saying he needed to visit "the lab."

Below the company, he housed his own million-dollar lab. In all the years she worked for him, she'd never been down there. She knew that he was always "experimenting" with something or another, but she never witnessed it firsthand. Honestly, she didn't think she wanted to. She knew whatever went on down there couldn't be _too_ ethical.

In the elevator, she tried to listen to him, but she kept having visions of cramped, badly lit tunnels with dingy, blood-splattered walls. In her head, she could hear excruciating screams of agony. Her imagination was so vivid that she had visibly flinched. Sebastian asked her what was wrong, sounding almost overly concerned and she laughed it off. _Nerves_, she said.

When the elevator doors opened, she'd been surprised to see pristine white walls with lights bright enough to blind her. Men and women in white lab coats scurried to and fro, and it actually scared her how much the lab looked like a hospital. She chided herself silently. Why did she ever believe his million-dollar lab would look like a torture chamber out of some horror movie?

She was still slightly bothered. There was something too immaculate about it, something too perfect about the doctors. One doctor smiled at her as he walked by, the smile of faultlessness—the kind that hides all their lies. It was creepy, and she felt herself shudder a little. Maybe she would've felt better if the place had looked like a modern day torture chamber. Better the horror she could see than the horror she couldn't.

Sebastian started going on and on about something he needed her to do after the _Rojo_ mission. He didn't get to finish because one of the lab rats said she had something important to tell him about something… She believed she heard the woman say God's Hand…? Sebastian told her that he would be back, as he followed the woman down the hallway.

She stood there feeling out of place in her too-smart business suit, wishing that she were anywhere but there. She turned suddenly with all intentions of following Sebastian and telling him that she had better things to do, but when she turned around she nearly steamrolled some man. "Excuse me," she'd mumbled, wondering how long he'd been standing behind her.

The hat he wore was pulled too low over his eyes for her to really see his face, but she could see that his skin was the color of bleached bone, vampire white. She felt like she was staring at a statue, and she had to fight the urge to reach out and touch his skin, to see if it was real. Lips the color of bruised cherries seemed to bleed black into his skin. If he smiled, his face would break. He _couldn't_ be real.

That's when she saw the cluster of men in their white lab coats, seemingly the same in an unnerving way. Then, one looked at her for only a second. Her breath hitched, catching in her throat. Her eyes followed the group of men. It couldn't be him. If it was him, how could he look her in the goddamn eye and keep walking as if she didn't exist? The thought alone was enough to make her blood boil. No, _couldn't_ be him; she was just losing it.

She was vaguely aware that the man in the low hat was talking to her. She felt the whisper of skin against her cheek. She thought he might've stroked her cheek, but she was too busy staring after the men as they disappeared through a set of double doors. When she finally pulled herself out of her stupor, the pale man was gone. She thought of a particular verse from a poem she'd read when she was younger, "_I think I made you up inside my head."_

She didn't even wait for Sebastian to return. She left. She thought that if she stayed there another minute she would go completely crazy. Then, they would put her on one of those metal tables and dissect her brain. Case study number 1920151813, Ororo Munroe. She thought she might've been overreacting, but she couldn't fight the feeling that something wasn't right.

She picked up her cup, nursing the amber liquid. She was starting to feel the dizzying effects of drinking too much too fast. It wasn't just what happened the day before that bothered her. Some unforeseen storm was brewing in the horizon. She could feel it in her bones. Sometimes, the feeling of dread would wake her at night. Many nights she would wake soaked in her own sweat, but she could never remember what she dreamed about or even if she dreamed at all.

She'd tried to explain this feeling to Victor one night when she'd jerked from her sleep, the last remnants of a dream fading with the fluttering of her eyelids. He hadn't understood, of course, not that she expected him to. She just needed his comfort. "Go back to sleep," he'd said. She didn't find any comfort in his words or his arms, but she did go back to sleep, counting bodies instead of sheep.

She thought about talking to Jean. She didn't want to bother Jean with petty problems that were probably a figment of her own imagination—some mental fabrication she'd somehow conjured up. How was she supposed to explain her feelings, anyway? They were founded on nothing but feeling. She didn't completely trust her motives for wanting to speak to Jean about it.

Sure, she told herself that she needed to talk to someone, but deep inside, she was afraid that she wanted Jean to use her mutation to help her somehow. And what if her feelings were nothing more than just some paranoia? But what if they weren't? What if there was some reason for them and she didn't want Jean to know? She would not use Jean like that, anyway. Whatever was happening with her she would have to figure out on her own.

She had apologized for the snappy way she'd blown Jean off on Thursday, and Jean had just acted as if it never happened. She didn't think her hatred was aimed at Jean in particular, though. All that day, she just felt like breaking someone's face. She remembered how one of her coworkers told her about some random guy she hooked up with, and all she could think about was hitting her in the teeth, just to feel her knuckles slam into another person seemed to be her fascination of the day.

What the hell was wrong with her? She was starting to believe this was the worse case of PMS she'd ever had. She had to get her mind off it. "Do you ever think about what it would be like if we were enemies?" she asked Victor, silently adding, _if I joined the X-Men_. Not that she was seriously thinking about doing anything like _that_. She would rather live life finding herself for a change and not worrying about good and evil.

She saw him knit his eyebrows together, his mouth curling into a grimace, and she could almost hear him asking her what her problem was. It's all he ever asked her lately. _The fuck's your problem?_ She waited, but it didn't come. Instead, his expression changed and he said. "We can beat each other's asses in the day time and fuck at night."

"Why did I expect you to answer that with any semblance of sincerity? I'm just a pretty piece of flesh to you, anyway," Ororo said, swirling the liquid in her cup. There was hunger inside of her that wanted more, that needed more. This wasn't what she was meant to be. Her life was never supposed to fall into this mess.

And what the hell was happening to her? When did everything start going wrong? She didn't understand. Things were so normal—well, as normal as her life would allow. She couldn't quite pinpoint when things started becoming this mass confusion. It was all just so sudden. One week, she felt totally normal, had dreams and ambitions. And now she felt like everything was just going into some weird form of depression, and she didn't know why. No, it definitely started after Monday. Things just got really fucked up after Monday.

It was as if the events from the day before only enhanced her bad mood, like a drug. She let her head sink to the table, her drink slipping from her hand.

There was nothing worse than going on a binger inside your boss's personal little shop of horrors with a man who could rip your clothes off in a million different ways. She could only imagine what the bottom must really be like. "Victor," she heard his name being purred from female lips like hot sex in the morning. Okay, so she lied. There _are_ worse things, and Lupa was one of them.

She didn't lift her head, hoping Lupa would find something else _besides_ Victor to preoccupy her time, but in classic Victor style, if a woman was gushing over him, he was reveling in it. It didn't matter, anyway, she told herself. She tapped her foot lightly against the leg of the table. The tapping only become louder, more rapid, as she listened to Lupa giggle and flirt like a schoolgirl in heat.

_No, I'm not sitting, right here, _she angrily said to herself. She sat up in her seat, offering her best glare to both of them. But Victor was too busy enjoying the cheap flirt. Could she really blame him? How old was Lupa again? 22? And she wasn't a bad looking girl when she wasn't scowling, but it was the principle of the matter. If a 22-year-old attractive man flirted with her in front of Victor… he'd be having both of their lives for dinner.

Lupa sauntered away from the table, and Ororo nearly slapped Victor when she saw him watching the back of Lupa's leather's pants go switching away. She kicked Victor beneath the table, and he snapped back to attention. "What?" he said. Wasn't she the one who always said that they weren't doing anything but having fun?

"Why don't you two just get a room _already_?" Ororo said, rolling her eyes.

"I was just bein' friendly."

"Sure, you were. You could at least wait to flirt with her when I'm not around. Show a little restraint, huh?" He had such a dirty, one-track mind. But wasn't that what attracted her to him, anyway? So, could she really be angry with him? It wasn't as if she was surprised by his actions, but she did expect a certain level of subtleness that he obviously didn't have.

She fingered the mouth of her glass when Victor excused himself to do Goddess knows what. She guessed to bang the bitch in the back room, but she realized she wouldn't be so lucky when she saw Lupa coming her away. Their eyes locked and she saw mischief and malice there. The girl was up to something.

She sighed internally when Lupa made herself comfortable in the seat that Victor had just abandoned. No good could come of this. No good at all. But she was the veteran here. She'd been around long enough to know better. Lupa placed her drink on the table, locking her fingers. They sat not saying anything at all each other.

"So," Lupa started. She unlaced her fingers, blatantly picking up Victor's bottle of beer. Ororo watched as she put her lips to it slowly. Ororo could feel her anger like bile rising in her throat, but she was better than a few cheap shots. "How long do you really think you can hang on to Victor?"

Ororo wanted to tell her to enjoy the drink, considering where Victor's mouth had been only hours earlier, but she wouldn't stoop to her level, _yet_. "If you think you're going to get me riled up over Victor, you're wrong. Such games should be left at the schoolyard with the rest of the children."

Ororo knew she wasn't very old, but she was years older than Lupa, had seen more life than Lupa had. She wondered if the girl could really see how ridiculous and petty all this was. They were falling into the stereotypical roles of two women fighting over a man, something that was associated with women, a reputation well-deserved at times.

She wouldn't fight the girl over Victor. There were more important things in life worth fighting for, but Lupa was still young and far too inexperienced to realize that.

"I thought you would've come back with a better comeback than that," but her words were a little angrier. Ororo knew how much Lupa hated it when she didn't respond with the "proper" amount of anger. "I'm starting to think you really don't care one way or another."

Ororo shrugged off Lupa's subtle threat. It would be silly for her to say that there wasn't a certain level emotion there for Victor. She realized this, even if she chose to ignore it. He wasn't some one-night stand that she could sleep with and forget about the next day. Whatever she felt for Victor was based on physical yearning. It had nothing to do with what her heart felt was right.

She couldn't keep Lupa from pursuing Victor, and she could keep Victor tethered down, if that's what he wanted. It wouldn't be the end of the world. She may be a little hurt by it, but she would move on to the next chapter in her life. She was still allowed her anger, though, and Lupa was really starting to piss her off.

"You can believe what makes you feel validated. I don't know need validation from you, Victor, or anyone else to substantiate myself." Ororo said, leaning forward. Surprisingly, this little "exchange" with Lupa was making her head feel a little clearer.

She could feel Lupa's anger against her skin. "You think you're so superior, you—"

Ororo cut her off, staring in her eyes coldly. "I believe we've had this conversation before. If this is the extent of your conversation, please, feel free to excuse yourself." Ororo felt the slight movement under the table, moving her leg to block Lupa's foot before she could push the chair over. Funny how attuned she was to that. When she was that age, she might've done the same thing. Lupa narrowed her eyes at Ororo.

"Dismissed." Ororo said, her stare never faltering. The girl stood from her chair, and Ororo was actually a little disappointed that Lupa hadn't tested her further. Perhaps, she was smarter than Ororo gave her credit for.

"Oh, and Lupa," she said, grabbing the girl's arm before she could escape. "Play pussy, and you'll get fucked." Ororo said sweetly, like a mother speaking to her favorite child. Lupa snatched her arm from Ororo, her eyes burning into Ororo.

"What was that all about?" Victor asked, as Lupa pushed past him, nearly causing him to drop a cup of something.

"Nothing." Ororo muttered. Tonight, she traded insults with a "colleague." Tomorrow, she was having dinner at the mansion. The story of her life.

- - -

He focused in on the main object of his hate, Sebastian Shaw. Sebastian Shaw was playing with fire. That didn't surprise him, but Sebastian knew about his past with Ororo. Sebastian knew he had much to do with the events that led to him leaving Ororo. He didn't believe that Sebastian had forgotten that. He sure as hell hadn't, but maybe he was so insignificant in Sebastian's eyes that he'd forgotten how he'd screwed him all those years ago.

Or maybe this was part of some sick game that Sebastian was still playing. Ororo obviously didn't know the part Sebastian played or maybe she did know Sebastian's version of the events. He couldn't be sure what kind of twisted games he'd played with Ororo. He saw the shock in her face when she saw him in the lab. He looked her in the eyes, but he pretended not to know her, turned away from her. He expected her to come running after him, but she didn't. He didn't know whether he felt relief or disappointment.

He suggested they take the project to Sebastian because Sebastian had money, and Sebastian could make it happen. Besides, they needed a fool. If anything went wrong, Sebastian would be blamed. At least, that's what he told his employer. For him, it was the perfect opportunity to destroy Sebastian's empire from the ground up. He took comfort in the fact that Sebastian's greed would be his downfall.

He hadn't expected her to be there, hadn't even known she worked for him until the day he met Sebastian personally. He didn't think that Sebastian was stupid enough to make her aware of his presence… or maybe that was a smart move by Sebastian. Depends on how you look at it. She was his pawn, his security, but he would amend his strategy, keeping her in mind. His plans would not be averted. Sebastian had his coming. But he couldn't think about her, either. He needed his concentration.

"I'm taking mutant evolution to the next level, beyond the next level. To create a race of mutants far superior to humans, to their fellow mutants, this is God's Hand. This is God's will. Phase one has begun." His benefactor said, entering the room with false grandeur. Phase one? They didn't even have a "subject," yet.

Then, he remembered he'd spied him with Ororo the day before. "What have you done?" he asked the man, but his answer was only an ominous smile, a smile that spoke many volumes. _Not Ororo_, he said silently to himself.

- - -

**Author's Notes:** Song used _10th Man Down_ by Nightwish. This chapter turned out to be mega long (try 10,000 words), so I had to split in two parts.

Too many Fight Club (Tyler Durden is my hero), APC, Belle & Sebastian, and Emiliana Torrini influences this chapter. Oh yes, Rob Dougan is love, people… Poem mentioned is Sylvia Plath's _Mad Girl's Love Song_.

I'm glad you all like the Ro/Vic interactions. I'll see what I can do about giving you all more insight on the relationship without compromising the integrity of the growing RoLo.

Thanks for your review, Draconian Bitchess. I'm too lazy to write out most accents, especially Rogue's (hey, I'm Southern, _deep_ south Southern at that, and I just don't like to write it out) and Logan's.

But for some reason I'll write out a Cajun accent all day long. I blame this on my friend Nick who has a Cajun accent, just love the way he says New Orleans (Nawlins). That's why I usually leave a disclaimer stating such, forgot to this time, but maybe, I'll be less lazy for part two. Special thanks to Sparkle for _trying_ to make me understand what a daymare was like. :)


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